To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers
by Caustic Paladin
Summary: COMPLETE! Sequel to "Two Slayers, One Heart." Jocelyn Penobscot was born with the Slayer power, understands it and wields it almost instinctively... and she's going to need her power as not one old enemy of the Scooby Gang, but THREE old enemies return and go to war against the Slayers. Ignores ALL Buffy and Angel comics, and Angel (TV series) Season 5.
1. Chapter 1

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 1: First Mission

My name is Jocelyn Kelly Penobscot, and I'm one of four girls in the world who were born with the Slayer power. My mom, Chantelle Penobscot (Rostov, back then) was a few weeks pregnant with me the day that Buffy Summers, the Prime Slayer, and Willow Rosenberg, sometimes called "The Wise," managed to activate every single Slayer on Earth. Seeing as how I'm a girl— all Slayers are girls, but you knew that, sorry— I was bathed in that power from before I was born, and I grew up with it, learned to use it and control it better than most anybody alive. Oh, I have a lot to learn yet, I know that— but I've had the power _as long as I've been alive_. I know what I can and can't do, and I know it way better than most. I didn't have to get used to it, because I've always had it— that makes a difference.

I love having the power. The ability to stand up to the evil that still persists in the world, the supernatural threats that rear up now and again, to fight for the people not blessed with this kind of power? Yeah. Priceless!

I've saved peoples' lives, and that's a hell of a feeling.

But my first "big case" as I think of it, it let me do something that put saving lives to shame.

I managed, with luck and a lot of help, to save the _world_.

If there's any feeling better than that, I don't know what it might be, and I'm not sure I want to find out— I don't know if a person can feel any better than I do about saving my world and _live through the feeling_.

It started so simple, and got so complex… I remember it still, the day it all started, the day I ran my first unaccompanied mission.

It was the start of the most important series of events in my life— how could I forget it?

_**88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888**_

"You sure you're up for this, Jocelyn Kelly?" Whitey Penobscot, my Dad and my Watcher, asked as I chose my weapons for my first solo mission.

"I'm ready, Daddy," I said, slipping a bandolier of Mom's crazy-discs over my shoulder, and over the sheathed light longsword on my back. "Seriously, I'm ready. I've been training for this my whole life, and you and Aunt Rose both say I'm better than she was at this age. Besides, you, Mom and Gwendolyn aren't going to be but a shout away, right?"

"She's ready, Whitey," Mom said. She looked at him with a little smile, looked at Gwendolyn with that same smile, then gave me the Mom-Smile— the one that only us kids ever got, the one that said as plain as day that she loved us, was proud of us— and that we'd damned well better be careful, because if we got hurt, she'd skin us alive. "Girl was born ready. She's got your brains and my eye for throwin' things, a rack of them crazy-discs Graham gave me at the Battle of Bloomington, all the Capoeira, Hwa Rang Do and Kung Fu skills we and Rose's family could give her— I'm seriously not stressing this."

"She'll be fine, an' this I know," said Gwendolyn Davies. Her Welsh accent got stronger, as it often did when she felt high emotion, and I grinned at her reassuringly.

Gwendolyn is a Slayer, too, and Mom and Dad's girlfriend. Like most of my extended family, I sometimes think, Mom, Dad and Gwendolyn make up an unusual romantic relationship. Mom's very bi, Dad's cool with that, and when they met Gwendolyn (also very bi) three years back, everybody sort of… fell in love with everybody else, and she moved in with us, no fuss, no muss, no stress. They all share a bed, and nobody in our extended family cares.

"Thanks, Gwendolyn," I said. "Okay— Royal? You ready, big guy?"

Royal is my best friend in the world. He's a pseudo dragon, right out of a Dungeons-and-Dragons-style world— you've seen them, I'm sure. Giles— head of the Watchers' Council and my godfather— says that there are well over a million of them, these days. Royal's been my buddy since a couple of weeks after I was born, and I have a bond with him that is literally telepathic.

_*I am ready, Jocelyn,*_ Royal said telepathically, and flapped over from the van seat to land on my shoulder. _*Together we will end this bevy of monsters. I will scout for you, and warn you— and sting anything with a circulatory system that gets close to you.*_

Royal draped himself around my neck, a three-foot-long, purple, scaly stole of cool and reassuring flesh, and nuzzled my cheek.

"And on that note," I said, "I think it's time to get this done. Radio check?"

I fiddled with my headset radio, adjusted it a little, heard Dad say, "Four score and seven dragons ago…."

"The world was a more boring place," I answered, giggling. "And you guys all know it."

"The girl's got a point," Dad said, reaching up to the dashboard to scratch the head of Phantom, his own pale blue pseudo dragon pal, even as Mom picked up and cuddled Tracer, her orange pseudo dragon, and Gwendolyn turned her head to kiss the top of her own silver-white pseudo dragon, named Moonlight's, head. "Royal, make her behave."

_*I am a pseudo dragon, Whitey,*_ Royal sent telepathically. *_Not a miracle worker._*

"And on that note," I said with a mock-sigh, "I'm out of here. Back after I kill the vampires."

"Be careful," Dad said.

"Be damned careful, honey," Mom added.

"Listen to your parents," Gwendolyn said.

"I will," I said— and got out of the van.

I went thirty feet down the street, pulled the manhole cover off of the storm sewer entrance where I would go into the sewers after a pack of vampires, and started down the ladder. Once I was in, I pulled the cover back on— and it got really dark. I switched on my night vision goggles— we Slayers are well outfitted, these days— and looked around in the pale blue light they showed me.

"Royal, can you see?" I asked.

_*Of course,_* he sent, sounding amused. *_Shall I scout?_*

"Only to the first intersection," I said. "Don't go too far, okay?"

*_I won't._*

Royal flapped his way north, moving along under Mercer Avenue in Bloomington, Illinois, stopped at the place where the sewers under Mercer and the ones under Taylor Street crossed, and looked around the corners from ground level.

*_All clear. Nothing at the limits of my vision._*

"Okay, move up, please," I whispered. He'd have heard me if I just thought it, but vocalizing made things clearer for him— we humans aren't natural telepaths like Royal and his kind.

He moved up to the place where Olive crossed Mercer while I moved up to a spot about fifty feet behind him, repeated his corner-looking, and sent, *_I see the den— east of this corner, and empty, I think. Shall I check to be sure?_*

"Wait for me to advance," I said. "Not getting separated, okay, pal?"

"I'll ratify that decision," Dad said in my ear. "Good call, Jocelyn."

Royal chuckled in my head and waited where he was.

I advanced, and we moved down to the wider sewer chamber where the vampires were crashing. A dry spring and summer made it possible to stay there and be comfortable enough— if your standards were low, anyway. There were four lawn chairs and four camp cots, a card table, a laptop computer sitting on the table— not much, but enough, I guess.

"Found their nest," I said. "No vampires, though. Dad… Bloomington Country Club isn't far from here, and this is Friday— are they having an event or anything? I know, sounds silly, but—"

"Not silly," Dad said. "One second, Jocelyn… oh, yeah. They're having a charity ball, honey, and Mayor Carlon is there. After the way he endorsed the Slayers and asked for our help with the mess at the Law and Justice Center last month, I'll bet most vampires would love a chance at eating him for lunch."

"Okay, I'm headed north," I said. "I'm going to stay down here in case I'm wrong, but I'm going fast.

"Dad— what's out there for back-up?"

"With Vincent and Vi off in Sydney and Willow and Lydia gone with Giles and Kelly to visit Buffy and Xander, that leaves Rose, Elaine and company," Dad said. "Your mother's on the phone with Rose now… and Rose, Ballard and Dawn are headed to the Country Club at speed— Elaine lost the toss, and Sh'rin's keeping her company."

"Understood," I said. "I'm not running, but I'm hurrying."

"Good girl," Dad said. "Stay cautious."

I moved out at a quick trot, ran back to the sewers under Mercer Avenue and turned north, Royal flapping quietly along in front of me, Dad, Mom and Gwendolyn moving along the street above me, going past me to the Country Club. I went a ways further on, passed Grove Street, passed Washington Street— and Royal braked to a halt at the place where the sewers under Mercer Avenue started to curve with the street as Mercer Avenue became Country Club Place. He hissed, and I shivered— a pseudo dragon hissing? Not a good sign.

Then Royal, brave even for a pseudo dragon— not cowards, pseudo dragons— turned and flew back to me, thought-shouting, *_RUN, JOCELYN!_* as he came.

Then I saw what he was running from, and though I'd never seen one, I recognized it from the many stories I'd heard about it and its kind from Buffy and Xander and the Sunnydale Survivors, those who'd fought at the Battle of Sunnydale and walked away from it.

Taller than average, six-two or so, and slender, but still powerful looking. Dead-white skin, bald head, pointed ears, exaggerated, needle-sharp fangs, dressed all in rough-tanned leather, moving with a rolling, ape-like gait that should have been awkward and wasn't.

"Dad!" I yelped, backpedaling furiously. "Mayday! Turok-han!"

"Run!" Dad snapped in my headset. "Backup coming!"

Too late. It seemed almost to blur as it moved towards me, and I'm faster than any normal human already.

I didn't think, I moved. That may have saved my life.

Both hands dropped to the bandolier of crazy-discs I wore, and I grabbed a pair of the spread-hand-sized metal disks with the finger holes in the tops. The discs looked to have been made of three different materials, were oddly weighted, and didn't fly like normal discs would, but naturally curved in flight. I'd understood them since I first picked one up at the age of ten— that was when my hands got big enough to handle them— and mastered them in the four-plus years since.

I grabbed a pair, crossed my arms on my chest as I backpedaled, and flung them out, releasing the discs much earlier than normal to shallow-out their curving flights in the cramped tunnel.

They flew where I'd aimed them (though I hadn't thought about aiming them there), and buried themselves in the thing's hips, right over the joints and right below its waist. It fell to the ground with a screech— and started trying to pull itself at me along the sewer floor on its hands.

Still moving on automatic, I reached over my right shoulder and drew my light longsword, a yard of high-grade titanium-steel alloy with a thin layer of silver over it, narrow yet strong, sharp as hell, and tapering to a needle point.

I leaped forward and sideways, swung the blade around and down— and through the neck of the über-vamp. Scary, that— because it almost managed to grab the blade before I hit its neck, and I'm not kidding when I say I'm fast as hell. It dusted, and I remembered to breathe.

"Abort the mayday," I gulped. "I dusted it. Took it's legs out with a pair of crazy-discs, then beheaded it."

"You— holy shit," Dad said. "You should still come out, Jocelyn."

"I'd like to, Dad," I said, as Royal landed on my shoulder and nuzzled my cheek. "But I think… Dad, I'll come out if you order me to, but I think I should go on. If these things are in the sewers in force, we _need_ to know it."

"Dammit," Dad said. "Okay, well… go to the next manhole cover. Your mother is going with you."

I heard voices in the background before the radio cut them off, and made a mental bet with myself. It wouldn't be Mom that came down, it would be Gwendolyn. She'd point out that Mom has me and my brother and two sisters to take care of, and that, while Gwendolyn loves them and they love her, Gwendolyn's not their mother.

So I felt pretty amazed when the manhole cover opened and Mom dropped in. Not upset, but surprised.

"Wow, I lose my bet with me," I said, as Mom stepped forward and hugged me. "I figured Gwendolyn would make the 'you've got kids' thing stick."

"She might have," Mom said. "But Moonlight told us something that changed the situation, and Tracer and Phantom confirmed it."

"What the heck could get her out of winning that argument?" I asked as we started back towards the curved area where Royal had first seen the Turok-han, with Royal and Tracer now flying together ahead of us.

"Well, you know how sharp a pseudo dragon's nose is, sugar?" Mom asked. "Seems they smelled a pheromone change in Gwendolyn. She ain't even had time to notice yet— but she's pregnant!"

I squealed— quietly— in delight. "Another brother or sister! Hot damn!"

"Pretty much how all of us feel about it, yeah," Mom said, grinning. "Almost enough to overwhelm the proud we're feelin' over you killing a Turok-han, Jocelyn— you done good, daughter-mine."

"Thanks," I said. "Mom… how? I thought those things were minions of the First Evil, and we'd surely know if that bitch was back."

"I don't know, Jocelyn," Mom admitted. "Your dad, he's calling Giles, and never mind vacation time. He needs to know this, and—"

Mom went silent, raised a hand— and we heard both our pseudo dragons hiss and growl.

We'd just hit a junction, a T-intersection where the storm drain ran on west down Country Club Place and off to the north to the Bloomington Country Club itself— and vampires came at us from all three directions.

Just normal vampires, thank god, not Turok-han— but there had to be two dozen of the things, and we didn't have room to fight properly, not in here.

Knowing how I preferred to fight, Mom took a long step away from me, gave me room to move, to use the longsword I drew again even as I stepped away from her— and it got nuts.

Vampires came at us like lemmings running for a cliff— and with pretty much the same result. My sword spun around me in the fast, deadly arcs that I'd learned from my Aunt Rose— a virtual _goddess_ with a sword— and I beheaded everything that got close enough.

Mom, in the meantime, had her favorite broadsword in her left hand, a stake from a bandolier of them in her right. She'd slash vampires, stake them— and occasionally send a thrown stake through the heart of a vampire that menaced one or the other of us, dusting it, and draw another stake from her bandolier.

We killed and we killed— and Royal and Tracer, not much good against vampires (no active circulatory system to send the sleep-inducing poison in their tails through them), had gone on down the two tunnels, and we both heard them say that there were vampires massed below the country club basement, and a group had broken through the basement of a house further up the street. Royal sent that there were dead humans there— and five vampires performing a spell of some sort.

"Mom, you have anything for that mass group at the Country Club?" I called.

"I've got some of your Dad's communion bombs!" Mom called back.

"Then you take that group," I said. "I'll check out the spell-vamps in that basement ahead. Only five of them, I can handle it."

"I hear you," she said. "Whitey?"

"It's a good plan," Dad said through our headset radios, sighing a little. "Be careful, Jocelyn. You, too, Chantelle."

"I will be," I said.

"Yes, dear," Mom said. "We've already got the bulk of this mess here down and— oops, make that 'all of this mess here down.' Sweetie, your Aunt Rose taught you well with that sword. Two with one swipe, I'm impressed."

"If I get up to seven with one blow, do I get to kill giants?" I asked, remembering a favorite childhood story.

"No, but we'll put you on a giant-killing team, at least," Dad said. "Get it done, you two— I'm going to be twitchy until you're both back safe."

"I hear and obey, O Wise Father," I said, and giggled as Dad sent me a raspberry.

Mom gave me a quick hug, then turned up the north passage towards the Bloomington Country Club while I went towards the residence on down Country Club Place. As I went, I saw Mom take a communion bomb out of a pouch on her belt, and grinned.

Dad invented those, and they're great against a mass of vampires. Simple plastic ball, divided into two sections, and a core of explosive, small, since it's not made to make metal fragment and move at killing speeds, like a regular grenade. Instead, the two compartments are filled with two different substances that are deadly to vampires; holy water and finely-ground communion wafers. The explosive splashes the holy water around, and spreads the communion-wafer-dust through the air. Vampires burn at the touch of either, and the finely ground wafer hangs in the air for half a minute or so— very hard on the evil undead.

I shook my head to clear the pleasant thoughts of lots of vampires dusting out of it, and moved down the sewer tunnel at a trot.

I found the place where the vampires tunneled up towards the house they'd invaded easily— a pile of broken stone with a purple pseudo dragon sitting on it, great clue!— and went up the narrow dirt tunnel slowly and quietly, Royal now draped around my neck.

"Five vampires and a magic circle, right?" I whispered.

_*Yes, Jocelyn,*_ Royal sent back. _*The circle— it is very complex, more complex than any I've seen, and we've watched Willow work. Also… they pulled up the carpet, and the circle— it seems to be marked on the floor— permanently._*

"That's… weird," I said. "And the family that lived there…?"

_*All dead, I believe,*_ Royal sent. _*Five bodies in the basement, plainly parents and children. It looks to have been a family room._*

"What's weird, Jocelyn?" Dad asked in my ear, having heard my comment to Royal over the headset.

"The magic circle the vamps are using seems to have been marked on the floor of the family room permanently— and the family didn't seem to know about it, it was under carpet, and they all got killed," I said. "Any thoughts?"

"Just be careful, sweetheart," Dad said. "Past that— oops, things just got nuts here, I need to help out!"

"Go, I've got this," I said.

"Love you, honey," Dad said.

"Love you, too, Daddy," I said— and entered the basement of the near-mansion where the vampires had nearly completed their summoning spell.

Royal had called it right— that was one big, complex, seriously complicated magical circle. I'm no witch, but I have seen Willow (_the_ witch— the most powerful witch on the planet, period) work some big and complex stuff, and my aunts (by emotion, not blood) Sh'rin and Dawn, the chief of the Guardians (like Watchers, but all women, and mages to boot) and her second in command, work some serious stuff, too— and this circle put any of theirs to shame.

Huge, filled with several different symbols that I was pretty sure all meant "power" of one sort or another, and with a vampire kneeling and chanting at each of the cardinal points. At the points of the pentagon in the middle— the one formed by the crossing lines of the pentagram inside the circle itself— were five crystals, each carved into a specific shape. A sword of white crystal, a flame of red crystal, a man in armor of blue crystal, tree of green crystal… and a demon of black crystal. Beams of light (or absence of light, in the case of the black crystal demon) of each color were growing up from the crystals, moving towards a point some five feet off of the ground.

I didn't think, I just… moved, acted on instinct, letting the things I knew about magic— not like I could do it, but I had learned about it for moments just like this one— make the decision about how to proceed without actually having to think about it.

I pulled a crazy-disc off of the bandolier on my chest and flung it sideways, to my left. It went a quarter of the way around the circle, swung inside it— and smashed the black demon statue just before the beam of blackness joined the others at the middle of things.

The vampires howled, leaped up and charged at me, not entering the circle, but coming around it. Even as they did so, three more Turok-han came out of the shadowy corners of the basement to join them— and I got scared.

"Three more Turok-han!" I yelped as Royal leaped off of my shoulder and started attacking the more normal vampires with teeth and claws, and I heard Daddy start cursing and shouting orders in my ear— not at me, at the others he was fighting alongside.

I went into defensive-blender mode, spinning my sword around me as fast as I could to keep anything that wanted to remain in one piece away from me, even as something started forming in the middle of the circle, something man-shaped and glowing.

I managed to kick one Turok-han back from me, but a second one got past my guard, grabbed my non-sword arm, and threw me back into the wall. I hit hard, and little explosions of light interfered with my vision for a moment.

Even around those, I saw this absolutely gorgeous man— body by Gymnasts-R-Us, long black hair ponytailed behind his head, a face like a young Brad Pitt meets a young Daniel Craig, and badly tattered clothes that left a lot of skin showing— take form in the air in the middle of the magic circle, drop three feet to the ground, and land in a catlike, combative stance. His eyes— gray, and very pretty— widened as he saw the monsters around me, gathering to kill me, and he… well, he suddenly exploded into this brilliant yellow-white light.

The light filled the room in a microsecond— and all eight vampires, normal and Turok-han alike, turned to burning ash in an instant.

"Holy shit!" I said. "End the mayday— all vampires are dead, but— whoa!"

The man who had saved me looked around for a moment, not speaking, just staring at the unfamiliar surroundings— then his eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed in the middle of the circle.

"Crap!" I snapped. "Dad, I need a medical-trained person here, and— ow!"

I'd tried to go into the circle after him, and gotten flung back.

"Dad, I've got a hurt man here— he saved my life, and he's— he's stuck in the magic circle, and I have no idea how to break it," I said. "I'm in no danger, repeat, _no danger_— but I can't get to the guy who saved me, and he's passed out."

"Understood, done here, en route, tracking you by headset GPS," Dad said. "Dawn's with us to figure out the circle."

"Hurry, Daddy," I said, and walked around the circle, examining the man who'd saved me— well, however he'd done it— from every angle.

He only got prettier in the few minutes it took Dad and the others to get to the house and down to the basement. Dad and Mom came in first, with my aunts-by-emotion Dawn Summers-Innes and Rose Killian right behind them, and my Uncle-by-emotion Ballard Innes behind them, with Gwendolyn behind him.

Aunt Dawn stopped to hug me, her pseudo dragon, Sunset (which is funny, because Aunt Rose and Aunt Elaine call Aunt Dawn 'Sunrise,' have almost since they all met) nuzzled my cheek, and they went to examine the circle. Aunt Rose hugged me as soon as Aunt Dawn let go— and I could feel her trembling, which freaked me, because nothing scares Aunt Rose.

"Aunt Rose, what's wrong?" I asked.

"Little freaked, Jocelyn," Aunt Rose admitted. "See, this house? Back in the day, I lived here. In fact, I lived here on the day Willow activated all the Slayers. Not long after, we moved to Scooby Mansion, but… memories. And since the guy who was married to my Mom then was an evil lawyer who was raping her by love potion and that circle's permanently etched into the floor, I have to wonder if it wasn't something that that shithead left behind."

"I'm afraid not, Rose," Aunt Dawn said. "This is… worse than that."

"Worse than a Wolfram and Hart rapist-lawyer magic circle?" Aunt Rose said, sounding unbelieving. "That's gonna take some doing, Sunrise."

"Magic circles are like signatures, Rose," Aunt Dawn said. "You know that, right? Heck, you can tell mine and Sh'rin's apart, and Sh'rin taught me magic."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Aunt Rose said. "So… whose is this?"

"I only saw her work once, when Willow took us back to the building where she tried to summon the First Evil to help her cleanse it," Aunt Dawn said, looking grim, "but you know how we never found the circle where that _bitch_ Amy gathered the power she used to drive the summoning?

"Well, we've found it, now."

"That— that waste of rat-flesh was living here!?" Aunt Rose said. "That— I hated Jerry, but I loved this house, and Amy— oh, man, I wish I could kill her! Too bad Wil beat me to it!"

"What about the man in there?" Dad asked Aunt Dawn. "Is he likely to be a problem? A danger?"

"No," Aunt Dawn said firmly. "Jocelyn, you broke the one figure, the black one, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did," I answered. "It was a demon. Classic-looking thing, horns, tail, arrowhead tip on the tail."

"Yeah, figures," Dawn said. "Whitey, these guys were trying to use Amy's power-summoning circle to summon some serious dark power for… I don't know what, we'll have to take pictures and ask Willow later— and the Turok-han, they were just a side effect. They weren't trying for the First Evil, I know that much, but… something bad and nasty, maybe one of the Elder Demons.

"Anyway, Jocelyn breaking the demon statue… that screwed their purpose, but not the spell. It still summoned something mondo powerful— the unconscious guy in there, he must some serious power of his own— but nothing inherently evil. Sword, flame, tree… and warrior. So, still combative, but also… without the corrupting influence of the demon figurine, there's nothing evil about him. And since Jocelyn says he saved her, I'm inclined to try and help him. So… give me a minute to figure out the circle, and a safe way to break it, and we'll do what we can."

While Aunt Dawn worked on figuring out the circle, Aunt Rose let Uncle Ballard— her husband in all but legality, since he was legally Aunt Dawn's husband, but also husband to my aunts (all by friendship) Rose, Elaine and Sh'rin— cuddle her, help her come down from the shock of finding out that Amy Madison— who'd almost destroyed the world not long after I was born— had lived in a place she once loved. This looked sort of comical, because Uncle Ballard is five-eleven— and Aunt Rose peaked at four-eleven, a full foot shorter than him. Between her height and her A-cup breasts, Aunt Rose, while undeniably gorgeous— classic, redheaded-Irish looks— could pass for eleven or twelve without a lot of work. And she was now… almost thirty, wow.

I told Mom, Dad and the others what had happened, how my benefactor had appeared, assessed the situation— and pulsed with light that must have been a lot like sunlight, since it destroyed vampires.

"Then he looked around like 'how did I get here, and where is here anyway,' and just… passed out," I finished. "God, I hope he's okay, he saved my life."

"I'm sure that Dawn and Sh'rin will be able to help, sugar," Mom said. "I can see him breathin' from here, and since that's the case, they'll be able to help— they're about the best healers on the planet."

"And I will definitely offer my help, if they need a trained paramedic type," Dad said. "The man saves my oldest daughter, he gets my help."

I hugged Dad, stayed hugging him for a minute, grinned as our pseudo dragons, sitting on our shoulders, draped their tails across us both. Daddy isn't my biological father, but I've known that since I was old enough to understand it when told (I was seven), and never, ever cared. Mom admits that my bio-father was a mistake, and Daddy married her before I was born, knowing she was pregnant with someone else's baby, and has never, ever treated me one drop less like a daughter than he treats my sisters, who are his. I love him, he's my Daddy, end of story. Mom has great taste, and any guy I ever marry will have a lot to live up to— Daddy's a hell of an example, and I expect any man I fall in love with romantically to live up to his image.

"Got it!" Aunt Dawn said a moment later. "Man, that's a serious seal— I don't know what they were trying to summon, but I'm damned glad you stopped them, Jocelyn. This seal would hold pretty much any demon I ever read about or heard of."

Aunt Dawn did something with some powdered holly ash, a couple of drops of holy water and a sprig of mistletoe, then stepped into the magic circle and started looking over my mysterious benefactor. I followed her, curious and a lot interested, and leaned over him, looking at his face while she checked him over.

He opened his eyes, looked straight into mine because of how I was sitting— and I saw so much hurt and anger and sadness in those eyes that I almost cried out in sympathetic pain— and I did take his hand and squeeze it, trying to tell him by that contact that everything would be all right.

He squeezed back, and he tried to smile— but it didn't take. Whatever that hurt was, it was too big, too new, to let him smile.

But he tried, and he squeezed my hand back… and I'm pretty sure that's when I started to fall in love with him.


	2. Mystery Guest

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 2: Mystery Guest

"Stay still, please," Aunt Dawn said as the mystery man who'd saved my life started to sit up. "You're pretty banged up, I want to make sure there's nothing life-threatening."

He looked at her, blinked in surprise and appreciation— Aunt Dawn's a major hottie, tall, titsy, butt to die for, and a face that begs to be put on magazine covers— then nodded and looked back at me. His eyes, gray, clear and filled with a pain that made me want to cry, met mine again, and I spoke.

"Hi, and thank you," I said. "I'm Jocelyn Penobscot, and you saved me from those über-vampires. Thank you very much!"

He nodded, opened his mouth, and… frowned. His mouth closed. He opened it again, then closed it after a moment, shook his head in frustration. He tried to speak one more time, managed a sort of hiss— just the expulsion of air, no real involvement of his vocal chords— and frowned more. He smacked his closed fist into the concrete floor of the basement— and it sounded like a sledgehammer hitting concrete, not a fist.

"Easy," Aunt Dawn said. "Don't hurt yourself, it'll be okay."

He shot Aunt Dawn a "yeah, right" sort of look, but he did it when she said "don't hurt yourself," before she ever go to "it'll be okay," which made me wonder about just how powerful he was. Aunt Dawn had already said that he must have some serious power, given the spell that brought him here.

"Okay, your clothes seem in a lot worse shape than you are," Aunt Dawn said. "You can get up, if you want. I'll want to look you over again later, but for now… you seem okay."

He stood, moving with an ease and grace that reminded me of Uncle Ballard, who'd taught me Capoeira, a martial art based in dance and acrobatics, so you can imagine how graceful that was. Also, he didn't let go of my hand.

Once he was vertical, my mystery helper took a good look around— and stared openly at the five pseudo dragons in the room, on my shoulder, Dad's, Mom's, Gwendolyn's and Aunt Dawn's. Aunt Rose's Glitter— the first pseudo dragon to come to our world— and Uncle Ballard's Facet had apparently stayed home.

Cautiously, our silent guest reached up a hand towards Royal, held it still like you might with a strange dog, to let him sniff it. Royal didn't sniff, just shoved his head under the man's hand and pressed upwards. He scratched and rubbed, and Royal let out the bubbling, cackling purr of a pseudo dragon who's happy, which visibly startled the man— but didn't seem to frighten him.

"This is my best friend, Royal," I said. "He's a pseudo dragon, and perfectly friendly. Also— Royal, can you read our friend's mind? If you don't mind, I mean, sir? Pseudo dragons are telepathic, he could at least tell us your name, if that's okay?"

The man nodded and tapped his temple. Royal locked eyes with him— easier to send and receive with a new person if he had eye contact— for a long moment, then shook his head rapidly.

_*I cannot get in,_* Royal said telepathically, including all of us. *_There is… imps and mages, the barrier in his mind is pure pain— mental and emotional, not physical. I can't… I'm sorry, but it's too strong, too fresh. I can't read him, and I don't think he hears me._*

The man shook his head, tapped his ear and nodded, indicating that he heard Royal, then frowned again, annoyed that Royal couldn't read him.

"Okay, well, somebody has to have a pen and paper," I said. "Daddy? Aunt Rose?"

Dad produced a pen and a little notebook, handed them to the man, who opened the notebook, put pen to paper… and stood there, his right arm trembling with effort as he tried to write… well, something. Since he couldn't, we didn't know what it might have been.

He closed his eyes and stood silently for a moment— then handed Dad back the pen and paper, stood where he was, and shuddered.

"Hey, it's okay," I said, taking his hand again and squeezing gently. "Seriously, it's okay— we can help, we've got some world-class healers in the family, and maybe the world's best trauma psychologist-slash-psychiatrist on call. We'll help you, okay?"

He looked at me, nodded slowly, and squeezed my hand.

"Okay, we need to call the cops," Dad said. "Things are so much easier these days, I swear, calling them and explaining what happened as opposed to hiding everything.

"But we can't explain you, sir, and I'd like a chance to try and help you without the police interfering. Would you be willing to go and sit in our van and wait for us? Maybe with a pseudo dragon for company?"

He hesitated, then nodded. Immediately, Phantom, Dad's pseudo dragon, dropped from Dad's shoulder and flew over to land on Mystery Man's shoulder. He looked surprised, but not at all upset.

"Before you go outside— I'll have Ballard show you which vehicle and unlock it for you— I'd like to thank you, sir," Dad said, offering his hand to the silent man. "My daughter says you saved her life by dusting the vampires that were threatening her. For that… well, I can't ever pay you back, so you're stuck with a lifelong friend."

"What he said," Mom said, taking his hand when Dad let go. "She's my daughter, too, and I'm in your debt forever an' a day for savin' her. Thank you."

The silent man looked at Mom, looked at me, then held his hand out at the height of Mom's head, pointed at me and moved his hand down, looking like he didn't believe her.

"Oh, yeah," Mom said. "She's my daughter, for real. I was sixteen when I had her, which explains some of the lack of apparent age difference— the rest is Slayer power, clean livin', and a hellacious-active sex life— keeps me lookin' young."

"Info-load, dear," Daddy said. "I'm sure he didn't need to know you're a sex fiend. But he's right, you and Jocelyn could be sisters by appearance."

"Flattery," Mom said, preening a little. "Thank you both."

(Actually, not flattery— Mom could pass for twenty, easy. Slayer-powered women seem to age really slowly, probably a side effect of the healing power that comes with the rest.)

Ballard took our new friend outside, Phantom on his shoulder, and came back about the time the first police car arrived.

I got lucky that first night out, and the responding officers obeyed not just the letter of the law— well, policy, as made by Bloomington's mayor— but the spirit, as well. They cooperated fully with us, treated us like fellow cops, not suspects. That doesn't always happen, or even most of the time. About two-thirds of the cops resent us Slayer, Watcher and Guardian types, think we're loose cannons, vigilantes, all that jazz. But I was lucky, and the detective I talked to liked us, respected us, appreciated the job we do. We were able to leave in an hour after the cops' arrival, and we got home by eleven at night.

We have a very, very nice house right next door to Giles and Kelly, who are my grandpa and grandma in all but name. I don't call them that so that they don't feel old, but that's who they are— and they're all I've got for grandparents. Mom never knew her dad and her mother tried to kill her once, so I've no interest in meeting the cow— unless I'm allowed to beat the shit out of her, anyway. Dad's parents died the year before he met mom, his dad of nasty cancer, and his mom in a car wreck on the way home from his dad's funeral— drunk driver hit the car with her in it, killed her and Dad's Uncle Mike, her brother. Dad… well, I think it was probably a good thing for the drunk that the wreck killed him. Dad was (naturally!) out of his mind with grief and rage.

Anyway, the house— eight bedrooms, ten bathrooms, stone construction, but well insulated. Dad paid extra to not have the trees on the property taken down (they normally chop them down to make getting equipment in and work done easier), and had the architect copy Scooby Mansion in style, if not in scope. I've got my own room on the third floor— one of two rooms up there, both bedrooms (well, four rooms if you count the bathroom off of each bedroom), with my own big, luxurious bathroom, a balcony that's actually shaded most of the day (BIG oak tree right next to it), and bookshelves built into the walls. (I'm a bookaholic, and I'm not even _thinking_ about seeking treatment, thanks!)

The living room is sunken, well-furnished, big enough to land a helicopter in, I think, and has this fireplace… you could roast a cow in there. Whole. We all got in the house, and Aunt Elaine and Aunt Sh'rin came over, with their pseudo dragons and Aunt Rose and Uncle Ballard's. My brother and sisters were next door, staying the night with Uncle Ballard's kids by his various wives, with my brother Stephen in nominal charge of things (with nominal help from Ballard's oldest, Nathaniel— me, I just hoped the house was still standing when the adults went back).

I was down on one knee, petting Abe, our dog— an old gentleman of a Golden Retriever, friendly and good natured— when Aunt Sh'rin and Aunt Elaine came in, and Aunt Sh'rin went straight to our silent guest, who gave her a serious looking over, as well as staring in delight at Shimmer, her pseudo dragon, who's really pretty. She's white, but picks up colors from everything around her— gorgeous. Aunt Sh'rin is hot herself— short, barely over five feet, stacked, tiny waist, tight butt… and this skin that's gorgeous. She's half Cheyenne and half Chinese (also, she's from a time about five thousand years before ours, but that's a long story), and her skin… wow.

She stopped in front of our guest, smiled and took his hands in hers. "Sunset tells me that you saved Jocelyn's life— I thank you. I helped bring her into the world, and would be saddened to see her leave it so soon.

"I am Sh'rin. I am a Guardian, one who watches and helps the Slayers, provides them with magical assistance… and I am a healer. I am told that you have been hurt, and that this hurt keeps you from speaking. I would help if I can. May I try?"

Watching his face through that little speech, I'd picked up on a couple of things that seemed important— but I didn't say anything yet about the fact that I was pretty sure that he had no idea what a Slayer was, and less idea about what a Guardian might be. But after the events in late 2003, everyone knew those things, I thought. Then Aunt Rose published her… account, I guess, since, while it was novelized, it was based on things that really happened, which had been a HUGE best seller, was still on the New York Times best seller list at number twenty now, almost three years after it had been published, and now people knew even more about stuff. But I could see on his face that he didn't know— and that had me puzzled.

"Hang on a second," Dad said. "Sir… dammit, we need a name for you." Dad looked around, then said, "Okay, charades, sort of. Is there anything you can see in here which sounds at least a little bit like your name? If so, point to it, please."

Our guest thought for a second, looked around, then pointed at Abe, whose head I was still scratching.

"Dog?" Dad said. "Doug, maybe?"

The silent man rolled his eyes and shook his head, then dropped to one knee and patted his leg a couple of times. Abe, being friendly and loving attention, promptly walked over to him, moving slowly (he's fifteen, which is old for a dog— over eighty), but with a wagging tail and grinning face. For a moment, our guest just petted Abe, scratched his head, gave his sides a good thumping (and Abe loved it, our guest was definitely a dog person), then gently pushed his fur aside and lifted his collar, pointed at that.

"Collar?" Dad said. "Bollar, dollar, follar—"

"Colin," I said— and our guest pointed at me and gave me a thumbs up. "You were slow, Dad."

"So sue me," Dad said, grinning. "I was simply approaching the question logically.

"All right, Colin, I'm Whitey— shall we try for a last name while we're at it?"

Colin thought, still petting and thumping Abe, then stood and paced for a second. He stopped, nodded as though to himself, and nodded at Dad.

Then he knelt, pressed his hands together before his lips, and moved his lips like he was praying.

"Pray? Prather? Prater?" Mom said.

Colin shook his head— and pointed up, emphatically, like he was saying "not the prayer, who it's directed at."

"God?" Aunt Dawn said.

Colin nodded and gave her a thumbs up, then stood, faced the fireplace, and held his right hand up near his face. He had the first two fingers of his hand and his thumb held close together, like he was holding a pencil, or something about that big around. He moved his hand away from his face slowly, back towards it quickly, twice— then the third time his hand went forward faster, his wrist flipped and his fingers opened. I opened my mouth, but Mom got there first.

"Darts," she said— not surprising, she loved darts and was a scary-good player.

"God darts?" Dad said, looking confused. "Thunderbolt?"

Colin shook his head, looking amused and exasperated.

"Goddard," Uncle Ballard said, frowning a little, like he recognized the name. "Colin Goddard."

Point and thumbs up.

"Okay, I'm never playing charades again, I suck," Dad said, grinning. "Colin Goddard, thank you again for my daughter's life— I think I need to say it again, now that I have a name for you."

"Ditto," Mom said.

"Thank you, Colin," I said.

He didn't try to wave it off, or anything, just nodded gravely at each of us— and again tried to smile when he nodded at me, but still couldn't do it.

I loved that he tried, though.

"One more question, then we'll let Sh'rin go back to trying to help," Dad said. "How old are you, Colin? I thought mid-to-late twenties, at first, but… younger, yes?"

Colin held up one finger, put it down, then held up nine.

"Nineteen," Dad said. "Well, speaking as one who looked older than he is for most of his life, I can't say I'm surprised. Sh'rin, back to you."

"All right, Colin," Aunt Sh'rin said. "May I try to help you?"

Slowly, looking sad and hurt and scared, Colin nodded.

"All right," Sh'rin said. "If you would like privacy, we can step outside— it's very pretty out."

Colin looked unsure for a moment, then turned to look at me and cock his head inquisitively.

"You… want me to come with you?" I asked, and he nodded. "I'm willing. Dad, Mom? May I?"

I saw them exchange the "patented parental telepathy" look, and knew that they both knew that I wanted to go, that I wanted to understand and help Colin— and that I _wanted_ him. Mostly physically, so far, but come on— gorgeous man, and he'd saved my life! Of course I wanted him!

"Well, color me not surprised," Mom said, so softly that I only got it because of the slightly enhanced senses that come with being a Slayer. Then she said to Dad and me both, "I don't object at all. Whitey?"

"I can't see why not," Dad said. "Why don't you three go out back— the porch swing would probably be a good place to sit, very relaxing.

We went out onto the back porch, Sh'rin, Colin and I (and Royal and Shimmer), and I led Colin to the porch swing, a suspended wooden bench with a back, and thick, comfortable cushions on it. Aunt Sh'rin grabbed a lawn chair, pulled it over close, and said, "Colin… this hurt that you feel, that seems to be keeping you from speaking or writing, even keeps our pseudo dragon friends from being able to read your mind… is it fresh?"

He nodded once, sharply, and I saw the muscles in his jaw bunch and flex.

"Colin, forgive me, but I must ask— are you— oh, English!" Aunt Sh'rin said the word "English" like a curse, and I sighed.

Fifteen years here, and she still didn't really think in English, and sometimes had trouble with it. Giles says it's because the worldview she grew up with is so totally alien to that of here and now, and I see his point. Five thousand years makes for a BIG culture gap.

"Colin, I know that some subjects are considered rude to broach, and that this is one— but I must ask," Aunt Sh'rin said. "And I am sorry if I phrase it badly, but English is not my native tongue, and it still trips me, sometimes.

"Colin, there are men in the world who feel that to cry is to not be a man, that to cry is to be weak, more a woman than a man… do you feel that way?"

Colin shook his head, and held Aunt Sh'rin's eyes while he did so. I could see on her face that she believed him, and that she was relieved that she believed him.

"Good," Aunt Sh'rin said. "Have you cried over whatever it is that hurts you so, that keeps you from communicating?"

Slowly, he shook his head.

"You have said that the hurt is fresh," she said. "As I understand it, you were summoned here accidentally, and immediately on your arrival, saved Jocelyn from several vampires— including three Turok-han, which are to vampires as fully armed soldiers are to children with toy guns.

"Colin, how long before that summoning did whatever it was happen?" she asked, very gently.

Colin hesitated, then held his right forefinger and thumb up with maybe a half an inch separating them.

"Less than an hour?" she asked.

He nodded, pressed his fingers together.

"Minutes?" Aunt Sh'rin asked, looking shocked.

Colin nodded, held up one finger, then put a second finger up, down again, back up.

"One or two minutes before you were brought here, this… event happened?" Sh'rin asked.

He nodded, looked miserable, sad, sick, scared and… and _furious_.

"Did someone die?" Aunt Sh'rin asked. He nodded emphatically. "Someone you cared for?"

He hesitated, looked frustrated, then nodded— but only once, and very quickly.

Aunt Sh'rin looked at me for help, and I gave it a shot.

"Someone you cared for, but weren't terribly close to, maybe?" I tried.

He nodded, looked— god, I don't know how to explain it! Colin looked sick, sad, angry, and… and bleak. Like he'd forgotten how to hope, like whatever it was drove out of him all hope of ever hoping again. Then he looked at us both, leaned back on the swing, and crossed his open hands on his chest.

"Someone died, yes, we— oh." I shut up and stared as Colin held one finger and shook his head violently. Then he held up both hands, all his fingers and both thumbs extended— and closed them, opened them again, closed, opened, closed, opened, closed-opened, closed-opened, closed-opened, closedopened, closedopened, closedopened, closedopened, closedopenedclosedopenedclosedopenedclosedopenedclosedopened—

"Oh, gods and ancestors," Aunt Sh'rin said, looking ill. "Hundreds of peo—"

Colin shook his head and jerked his hand up, telling her quite plainly to elevate her estimate.

"Thousands of people?" Aunt Sh'rin said in a tiny voice.

Again, he shook his head, lifted his hand.

"Tens of thousands?" I said, my voice… I think I must have sounded like I was about five years old.

Colin nodded slowly.

"Oh, god," I said. I knew it was foolish, but I tried to ask anyway. "How…?"

Colin thumped himself in the chest, hard, _violently_.

"You… you did it?" I asked, horrified.

He shook his head, then closed his eyes, visibly tried to compose himself. After a moment, Colin stood, moved to the edge of the porch, and set himself, took a martial arts stance (karate of some sort, I thought). He looked behind himself and gave a thumbs up to the air behind him, and a cheery little wave, then turned back to face us, set himself more firmly, and shook his head from side-to-side once, slowly and deliberately.

"You… tried to protect people?" Sh'rin said. "Tried to save them? And you… you failed?"

Colin sagged visibly, nodded slowly, then sank slowly to sit on the flagstones of the porch, put his face in his hands for a moment, then just… drooped. His elbows were resting on his knees, and his hands fell to dangle limply between them while he stared blankly at the ground.

"Colin, no one man can save that many lives, or lose them, not in a single moment," Aunt Sh'rin said. "You can't— gods of earth and sky!"

Colin stood up— and kept going up. A nimbus of gold-white light surrounded him, the color of sunlight on a bright, clear day, and he floated up until his head was only inches from the porch ceiling.

I understood then. Colin's clothes, while badly tattered, made sense to me.

He wore black pants, bloused into black boots, and a white shirt of some heavy material, which, while badly torn, had a visible pattern to it, a starburst done in gold on his chest. The shirt had been ripped up, but you could still see the starburst.

"Holy god on a pogo stick," I said softly. "Colin… you don't know what a Slayer is, do you?"

He shook his head, floated back down to the ground, and the light around him went out.

"The year," I said. "Colin, what year is it?"

He looked puzzled, then shocked— and held up various numbers of fingers to indicate 2018.

"Okay, wait, stupid, you'd have heard of him if he'd been from your past, he'd have heard of Slayers if he came from your future," I said. That left parallel worlds. "Colin… does the name Alex Halstead mean anything to you?"

Colin thought visibly for a moment, then shook his head, looking puzzled.

"But— but he is the President!" Sh'rin protested. "He won by _many_ votes, people saw that he had a pseudo dragon companion, and they understood that he had to be a good man, he won by— you have to know who he is!"

Colin looked stunned. He shook his head, stood straight, saluted, then put his hand over his heart— all before making the classic "hourglass" wave of the hands from shoulders to hips, indicating a woman.

"Your president's a woman?" I said, and he nodded. "Okay, plain as day— parallel worlds, and you got jerked into this one by those vampires. They wanted something nasty and powerful, but I broke one of their summoning objects, and they lost the nasty part— and got you.

"Colin… you're a super hero, aren't you?"

He nodded slowly, then— then his face _twisted,_ and he suddenly tore the remains of the shirt he wore off, flung it away from him. When it hit the ground out in the yard, he shoved both hands out towards it, violently— and beams of white-gold light leapt from his hands and incinerated the shirt— completely. Nothing left but a little puff of ash that blew away in the breeze.

Then he dropped to the ground, put his hands over his face, and his breathing changed, grew rapid. I understood, knew that he was crying, though silently, and I went to him without thinking, knelt down, pulled him close, and held him.

He cried for a long time, and I held him until he stopped.

He cried… but he never sobbed, never said a word, and when he stopped crying, he tried to speak, probably to say "thank you"— or maybe "I'm sorry," he's a guy, after all, and might have been that stupid— but nothing came out, and he shook his head in frustration.

Crying wasn't enough.

So I'd have to find another way to help him.

I looked around for Sh'rin, but she'd gone inside, probably to give us privacy.

"Colin," I said softly, and he looked up at me, not seeming ashamed of the tears on his face. "Colin… there's a lot of differences in our world, but… I save lives, too. Or will, I guess. Tonight, I killed a lot of vampires. I killed a Turok-han by myself— they're the vampires that are— what did Aunt Sh'rin say? 'To other vampires like soldiers are to kids with toy guns,' or something like that. Good analogy.

"But I didn't save everyone. You saw the bodies of the family that lived in the place where the vampires summoned you— I didn't save them. I didn't know them, didn't know they were in danger even, but I still feel… guilty."

He shook his head violently, and I smiled. "I know, I shouldn't— thank you. But I do. And I can't help but wonder… how much of what happened to the people who died was really your fault, and how much is you doing what I'm doing; taking too much blame."

He shook his head firmly. He seemed to realize, as he did so, that we were in a pretty intimate position— him sitting on the porch floor, me on my knees on his left, arms wrapped around his waist and chest, body pressed against his, face only a couple of inches from his— and tried to pull back a little. I wouldn't let him.

"No," I said. "You need held, I like holding you. Stay still." He stopped trying to pull away, and I said, "Colin… it's going to sound weak, but… did you do your best to try to save those people?"

He nodded, but looked ashamed.

"That counts," I said. "Maybe it doesn't fix it, maybe it isn't enough to make you hurt less— probably even— but it counts. Will you give me that?"

Slowly, very slowly, he nodded.

"Okay," I said. "That's a start, and I'll take it.

"Shall I get Aunt Sh'rin, now?"

Again he nodded, then he stood and pulled me to my feet. He pulled me into a hug, moving slowly, giving me time to move away or let him know I didn't want to hug him. Fat chance!

I got my arms around his neck, realized how tall he was— over six-two, maybe even six-four, to my five-three (and I'd been amused by Aunt Rose and Uncle Ballard, earlier— hello, payback)— and just hugged him as tightly as I could. For the second time since I realized how much stronger I was than most people (the first time was my friend and trainer Vincent, who isn't entirely human himself), I hugged all out on someone who wasn't a slayer— and he made no indication that he found it uncomfortable at all.

We stood there for most of a minute more, then I let go and stuck my head in. Aunt Sh'rin stood near the door, looking pensive, and came out as soon as she saw me.

"Colin," she said, "it is easy to blame yourself for things such as this, and it may even be true— I cannot know that, not until I can hear what happened— but it may well have been beyond your control. I would like to try and help you, if I may?"

Colin nodded— then bowed to her, plainly thanking her for trying.

"You are welcome," she said. "Colin… I have been here long enough to know a little about super heroes, and knowing how you called yourself when you wore your costume, that might help me to reach you. Can you think of a way to tell us?"

He thought for only a second, then nodded. He walked out from under the porch roof, motioned us to follow, and pointed up at the brightest star in the sky.

"Star?" Aunt Sh'rin said, and he nodded, then held up his left arm, put the fingers of his right hand lightly on the underside of his left wrist.

"Life-beat?" Aunt Sh'rin said, looking puzzled.

"Modern English, Aunt Sh'rin," I said, smiling. "Not life-beat, pulse."

"Star Pulse?" Aunt Sh'rin tried— and Colin held up both hands, made a sort of pushing-together motion.

"Starpulse," I said, making one word of it. "Wow. I like it."

Colin shook his head violently, made a pushing away gesture.

"It may not be something you want anymore, Colin Goddard," Aunt Sh'rin said softly, "but being Starpulse is a part of who you are. It may be that you never use the name again, but it is still a part of your being. I know this."

Colin spread his hands, cocked his head, asked "How do you know?" without saying a word.

"I know because Starpulse was the name— the _self_— that you wore when you used your abilities to save lives, Colin," Aunt Sh'rin said. "And had you not loved saving lives, loved it with every fiber of your being, then failing as you did would not have hurt you so much, or in a fashion so clearly designed to keep you hurting. By not letting yourself communicate your hurt, my friend, you are insuring that it will not go away.

"That tells me that you hate failing so badly that you must have loved saving lives as much as you hate losing them— that you loved saving lives more than anything else in your personal world."

After a long, tense moment, Colin nodded slowly, and again started leaking tears.

"I will help you if I can, Colin," Aunt Sh'rin said as I went and put an arm around his waist. "I know that some part of you believes that you do not deserve my help, nor any help— but you are wrong.

"Let us begin."


	3. Fallen Hero, Rising Star

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 3: Fallen Hero, Rising Star

Aunt Sh'rin tried to reach through Colin Goddard's pain in every way she knew how that didn't risk hurting him badly or permanently for most of an hour.

She tried talking first, just explaining rationally that pain was a defense mechanism, and that once it had served its purpose, you stopped using it as such. No result. Colin listened, he understood— but some part of him did not believe that he deserved to be free of the pain, or that it was a defense mechanism, or… something.

Then she tried hypnotism— a skill she'd had for years, but hadn't had cause to use often. He wouldn't go under, which didn't surprise me— a bad thing for a super hero to be an easy hypnotic subject, you know?

Finally, Aunt Sh'rin broke out the magic. She tried to enter his mind, at first with a simple communication spell that failed dismally, then with a more complex and powerful spell that should, by rights, have let her see the cause of his pain as a three-dimensional image, complete with motion and sound, like a movie. That, too, failed completely.

Finally, Aunt Sh'rin broke out the most powerful spell that she knew that didn't risk causing Colin some sort of damage, one that would allow her to literally swap points of view with him. She would experience the events that had hurt him so, without any emotional or mental connotations, but with full sensory impact, then the spell would give her Colin's take on events— _and give him her take on those events_.

It bounced. The magic reached his mind— and rebounded away, like a basketball thrown at a brick wall with maximum force. Instead, the spell hit me, and Aunt Sh'rin got my take on the events of the night, and I got hers— warm and fuzzy feelings ensued, because she was very proud of me.

"Colin… I am sorry," Aunt Sh'rin said when the spell had failed (and run its course in our heads). "I cannot believe that… oh, Colin, I cannot accept that one man could be to blame for all that you take on yourself. You must learn better, must come to see… but your pain is too much. For now… I am sorry, but for now, I cannot help."

Colin nodded slowly— and bowed to her, thanked her for trying.

We went inside, and found the others sitting around in the living room, talking quietly. When we came in, all heads swiveled towards us— and everyone stared with various expressions, some of disbelief, some of pure delight, most a mixture of the two. Uncle Ballard, however, looked like a man who had died and gone to geek heaven.

"Colin Goddard," Uncle Ballard said slowly. "The name felt familiar, but I couldn't place it. Then Dawn ran the 'net for a bit, poked around— and she found a lot of information on the man… the man I think you are.

"You're Starpulse, aren't you?"

Colin… drooped. Uncle Ballard looked puzzled as Colin nodded slowly, like his head weighed hundreds of pounds and moving it that much took all of his energy.

"Colin… that's nothing to be ashamed of," Uncle Ballard said. "Man, you saved so many lives—"

Colin turned and went back outside.

"What— I don't understand, what did I say?" Uncle Ballard asked.

"Explain," I told Aunt Sh'rin— and I turned and went out after Colin.

He was standing in the back yard, looking up at the sky with tears pouring down his face.

"Colin… he didn't mean to hurt you," I said, taking one of his hands. "He doesn't know about… whatever happened."

Colin nodded, but didn't look at me.

"There's a plus to this," I said, but he only shrugged. "Colin… I don't know if you were a comic book character, a cartoon character, or in movies or novels— but obviously, there's fiction about you, here. So maybe the rest of us can find out what happened— and that may let us help you."

He only shook his head, still not looking at me. I understood what he was saying— but didn't let him have the satisfaction of being unopposed.

"Yes," I said, using my best 'don't mess with me' voice. "Yes, Colin, you _do_ deserve to be helped. You failed once— but you tried! And Uncle Ballard said you saved a lot of lives, that counts, damn it!

"Since one of those lives was _mine,_ I'm pretty much not gonna let you tell me you don't deserve to be helped, damn your stubborn ass!"

Colin looked at me, and in the starlight I could see his surprise at my forcefulness.

"Damn right," I said. "I'm a lot of things, Colin, but I'm not a quitter— and I'm not quitting on you. In fact, I'm not letting _you_ quit on you.

"Deal with that!"

He blinked, shook his head a little ruefully— then bowed at me, acknowledging what I'd said, accepting it, but not necessarily agreeing with it.

"Men!" I said. "First Daddy fought his feelings for Mom for years, then Brian let Kimber get away from him, and Wesley! If not for Aunt Dawn and Willow, that idiot would have let Fred get away from him, which would have been unforgivable, and now you want to take the weight of whatever happened on your shoulders and deny that there could have been anything that makes it not totally your fault, and stop looking at me like that, I'm going to have my say, and the only way you're going to shut me up is to either open your mouth and _ask_ me to or just _kiss me,_ and I'll bet you won't d—"

Sometimes, it's nice to be wrong.

Colin took my face in his hands, cupping it gently-but-firmly, and he kissed me. I melted up against him, drew his tongue into my mouth, traced it with mine, darted mine into his mouth when his retreated, moved into his arms as his hands moved from my face to my waist. My arms went around his neck, his around my waist, and we kept kissing, tongues exploring each other's mouths, both of us breathing hard and fast. His right hand dropped tentatively from my waist to the upper curve of my butt, and I pressed myself against his erection, loving the feel of it against my belly. He got the idea, and both his hands dropped to my butt, cupping and squeezing— and I hopped up, wrapped my legs around him, sucking on his tongue now, and pressing my crotch against his, wishing I wasn't wearing jeans, hell, wishing I wasn't wearing _anything!_

For a long, electric moment, we kissed and I rocked against him, then he broke the kiss, panting a little, and looked at me— then over his shoulder towards the house.

I'm pretty sure that Colin meant to indicate "what would your parents think about this," but he didn't get to put that message across, because when he looked around to nod towards the house, he saw Mom standing on the back porch, leaning against one of the roof supports and looking amused.

Colin jumped, and squeezed me a little tighter in his surprise at seeing Mom there, but I will give the man credit; he didn't drop me, or shove me away. He did gently disentangle himself from me, and I let him, but once my feet were on the ground, he kept one arm around my waist, looked Mom in the eyes— and waited for her reaction.

"Well, I got to say," Mom said, smiling, "Jocelyn, honey, I can't fault your taste— this one's just plain luscious. Saved your life on top of that. I saw this comin' back at Rose's old house.

"Colin… first off, major points for not movin' away from her an' tryin' to pretend nothin' happened. Second… ain't no thing. Jocelyn's her own woman, and she's earned the right to do as she damned well pleases with her body and her life. Which ain't to say I wouldn't jump down your throat and tear your guts out if I didn't like you, but since I do… what happens between the two of you is your business. Third, don't you worry none about Whitey— man's perceptive to hell an' gone, he saw this comin', too, and feels like I do about it. That's why he asked your age early on, Colin."

Colin cocked is head in question, and mom said, "Me an' Whitey got married when I was sixteen an' he was thirty. So we'd be pretty much asshole hypocrites if we got too freaked over a big age gap, sure— but we did want to make sure you weren't way older than you looked. After all, we know a guy who's two hundred and sixty-seven, and don't look a day over forty.

"Course, he's also married to a thirty-seven year old, but, hey— as parents, we'd have had to draw the line somewhere!"

Colin looked sort of stunned— but he nodded and sketched a little bow mom's way.

"Anyway— you two want to come inside?" Mom said. "We'd like to see if what we did find out about you is true, Colin, or if it got… I don't know, muddled in transmission to the guy who wrote your comic book here."

Colin's face… closed down. Mom got it right away, and she said, "No, Colin— we don't know what happened to you that hurt you so, though we got an idea about who caused it.

"See, there was a comic book about you for about three years— then the guy what wrote and published it died, and the company folded up— and your story never got past the day you fought Madlight for the fourth time and put his ass down."

Colin blinked and stared then made reading motions, and held up three fingers.

"I'm not— oh," Mom said. "Colin, the comic went on for three years— but only covered about six months of time in the thirty-seven issues it ran. Now, seeing that you got your powers a little after your eighteenth birthday, well… there's a lot we don't know. What we do know came off of the Comics-Wiki website, so it may not be all that accurate. Whitey's done ordered the collections of your comics, though, so we'll be able to learn as much as we can."

Colin stared for a moment, then shook his head rapidly, like he was trying to clear it.

"Yeah, it would be weird to discover you were a comic character, I'll bet," I said. "So… you ready to face everyone, Colin? I'm sure Uncle Ballard will back off, now that he knows what's what.

"Besides, if you come in now, we can explain about Slayers, Watchers, Guardians— all the stuff you have to be wondering about."

Colin nodded emphatically, and we went into the house, holding hands. As soon as we were in, Uncle Ballard stood up and said, "Colin, I'm sorry— I didn't mean to upset you, I just… I don't understand, probably can't, but I won't push, or bring that up again— not until you're ready. Okay?"

Colin nodded, went to Uncle Ballard and shook his hand.

"Holy crap!" I said, smacking myself in the forehead. "I'm an idiot— worse, I'm rude!

"Colin, I need to make some introductions, I think— because I never introduced everyone!"

"Oh, hell," Dad said, shaking his head. "Oldest social trap in the book, too— the handicapped guy— which you are, sort of, being mute, though not through normal causes— gets ignored in some ways. I'm sorry, Colin."

Colin made a dismissive, "it's okay, I get it" gesture, and I introduced him to everyone, explaining that while I called Uncle Ballard and his family uncle and aunts, it was friendship, not blood, that made them aunts and uncle. Then I introduced the pseudo dragons, too— I'm thorough, and I grew up with pseudo dragons around, so they're a natural part of my life. But I could see, even with him still unable to smile, that Colin found them amazing, wondrous and delightfully new and different.

(Also, he seemed amazed— not upset, but surprised as hell— that Uncle Ballard had four wives, even if it was only legal for Aunt Dawn, and that I introduced Gwendolyn as "Mom and Dad's girlfriend, Gwendolyn Davies." He accepted it, though, which was good, since I'm bi as all hell, and want a relationship that covers both bases sexually for me. Even though I'd never actually had sex with a guy then, I already _knew_ I wanted to— badly!— and I had hopes for that night! [Girls? I'd been having sex with girls since I was twelve. Just as precocious as my Mom, that way!])

"Okay, let's start by explaining us," Dad said. He grinned a little and added, "Wow, this is different— I've never really had to do this from scratch before. Or— Ballard, you want a shot at it?"

"No, you're the scholar, Whitey," Uncle Ballard said. "You handle it."

"All right," Dad said. "Listen, Colin… you need to understand that, regardless of what things were like where you came from, the supernatural exists here, is real. There really are ghosts, demons, werewolves… and vampires.

"Thousands of years ago, demons ruled the world, did for centuries. These were the pure-blood demons, and they had power like nothing we've ever seen. But they lost their hold on this reality, though we don't know how.

"The story goes that the last 'pure' demon to leave this world fed on human blood, then forced the human, just before death, to feed on its blood. By mixing their blood, it became a human form possessed, infected by the demon's— not soul, but essence. He bit another, and another, and they walk the Earth, feeding… killing some, mixing their blood with others to make more like them. These are vampires.

"After a time, some very powerful wizards got together and tried to create a power that could stand up to the vampires, fight them… and they bound it to a girl.

"The girl fought, eventually she died— and the power passed to another girl, and another when she died, and another when that one died, and so on down the millennia— until something happened that changed it.

"The men who'd summoned the power told their descendants, and those descendants became the Watchers, a group that trained and assisted the Slayer— but another group, formed in secret, felt that the Watchers were abusing the Slayer, using her and caring nothing for her. With the magics at their disposal, they foresaw a time when the Slayer would need help that the Watchers could not give— and they became the Guardians, all women, all skilled in magic.

"Fifteen years ago— the fifteenth anniversary is in three days— something huge happened, and the Slayer of the day— Buffy Summers— met something she didn't think she could defeat, something that threatened to end the Slayer line, that destroyed nearly all the Watchers… and the last of the Guardians, who'd been in a sort of magical sleep, awoke, and explained to Buffy a weapon that she had found, a Scythe made and enchanted by the Guardians to be used by the Slayer. The last Guardian was murdered before she could finish her explanation… but Buffy learned enough to make some guesses, guesses that paid off.

"Just before facing an army of Turok-han— the bald vampires that were trying to kill Jocelyn when you arrived— Buffy had Willow Rosenberg, the most powerful witch in the world (and a good witch) use the magic inherent in the Scythe to activate every single potential Slayer on Earth. Now there are over two thousand girls with the Slayer power, even after some serious losses.

"In three days, on the anniversary of that event, more will be activated. Every year, the Scythe activates the newest potentials on the anniversary of the first time it was used to do it, and we get between eighteen and thirty new Slayers. Nowadays, with us being out in the open, those girls contact us and come to school here, at a real school that's run by the head of the Watcher's Council, Rupert Giles, but that has a special curriculum for Slayers— more combat training, stuff like that.

"Anyway— only a couple of days after all Slayers everywhere were activated, before the original team had time to do more than put up a website to help girls who went looking on the web for why they suddenly had super powers, the Scooby Gang— the core group, consisting of Dawn, here, who's Buffy Summers's little sister, Buffy, her watcher, Rupert Giles, and her two best friends, Xander Harris (now her husband) and Willow Rosenberg— Dawn got an email from Rose, there, telling Dawn that she had Slayer powers— and so did her new girlfriend, Elaine. So the Scooby Gang came running, wanting to see why one city had two Slayers in it, and…."

Dad talked for over an hour, explaining the events that led up to the Battle of Bloomington— including my birth, how Mom had been activated the day of the Battle of the First, and been pregnant with me, how I'd had the Slayer power literally since before I was born, me and three other girls like me, and how we four seemed to have better control over our power than any others.

"… and in the last fifteen years, we've become accepted by a large part of the world," Dad finished. "We've got government sanction in most of the free world, and government tolerance in most of the places where we don't have sanction.

"The Watchers, backed by the Guardians as rebuilt by Sh'rin and Dawn, help the Slayers, and the Slayers do their best to help the world to be a better place.

"That's what you've fallen into, Colin— I hope it doesn't freak you out too much."

Colin looked around, shook his head— not in disbelief, but in amazement— then gestured around at us, all of us— and tapped himself on the chest. Then, to make sure we understood, he stood, tapped his own chest again— then made a motion like he was driving a stake into a vampire.

"You want to help?" Dad asked.

Colin nodded vigorously. He looked… hungry, eager— still unsmiling, but excited, interested. He raised a hand, made it pulse with the light he'd used when he first arrived, that had destroyed the vampires who'd been trying to kill me— and nodded sharply.

"Well… you'll have to learn a lot of things, Colin," Dad said, a little shocked by his eagerness to help. After all, he'd tried to help others and lost them, been horribly hurt by that— Dad expected him to not be ready to fight again, not yet, anyway. "And you don't face vampires— or any other supernatural threat— until we say you're ready. If an emergency pops up, that's one thing, but otherwise… not until we pass you. Can you deal with that?"

Colin nodded, almost-smiled, then stood and took a martial arts stance— definitely one of the karate forms, it was the most common karate stance.

"Lots to know besides martial arts, son," Dad said. "We'll give you some books to read later, and let you sit in on some classes for Watchers. You can join our martial arts groups, let us see how good you are. You can start Monday— you should take the weekend to… decompress.

"One other thing, Colin— and so help me, if you argue, I'll just sic Jocelyn on you. You're going to need clothes, some other basic necessities, a place to stay… and the Watcher's Council is supplying most of those things. I'm supplying the rest.

"The Council has money it will never spend, and you saved one of our Slayers— so the Council will outfit you with clothes, toiletries, some luxuries— a computer, a stereo, books, like that.

"I, on the other hand, will be supplying you with room and board. You saved my daughter's life, son— so if you argue, I'll have to have her kick your ass."

Colin looked… amused-annoyed for a moment, then stood, tapped his chest— and made dishwashing motions, then bent and yanked the starter cord on an invisible lawn mower, pushed it around the living room, and looked at dad with a raised eyebrow.

"That's fair," Dad said. "You can help around the house, too. Deal?"

Colin went and took Dad's outstretched hand, and they shook solemnly.

"Okay," Dad said. "Now… let me tell you what we've learned about you. If something we found is wildly wrong, let us know, okay? We'll work out a way for you to tell us what's what— probably more charades, which I will watch in silence, since I reek at that."

Colin nodded— and Dad told him what he'd learned about the hero that Colin Goddard had been, about Starpulse.

In 1998, on the Earth of Colin's birth, his parents had been astronauts, unmarried, not even dating. While they and one other scientist-slash-astronaut were stationed on Starlab Space Station, an orbital lab above the Earth, something had hit Starlab, something they'd thought was a meteorite at first. The third astronaut had died in the resulting explosive decompression, but William Goddard and Alicia Powell had been in another part of the station and had been able to seal it off before the air bled off. Unfortunately, the impact on the station also destroyed their space shuttle, and they had no way back to Earth.

NASA had mounted a rescue operation, but it had taken a week. In that time, afraid that they were going to die— Starlab's orbit had started to decay sharply— Will Goddard and Alicia Powell had turned to each other for comfort and had become lovers.

Colin Goddard was conceived in orbit some several hundred miles above the Earth, and was also bathed in the unknown radiations of the alien device that had been what actually hit Starlab, a probe from a race several centuries beyond Earth in their technologies. Those energies, along with his conception in a totally new environment for such things, had altered the DNA of the resultant child— Colin— in such a way that he had not died when, at the age of eighteen and a few weeks, he had been hit by a laser beam fired by a hi-tech terrorist attempting to take over his college class building (a Political Science class on American Politics and Government, of course).

Instead, Colin had somehow become a human stellar battery, channeling the power of a star— or something very like it— through his body, giving him unbelievable power.

His world had super beings already, though most had retired or gone "underground" after the public trust had swung against them in the late nineties, when a super hero widely respected by most of the world had been revealed to be a pedophile rapist who used the adulation given him as a hero to attract victims.

Colin, calling himself Starpulse, had gone a long way towards restoring that trust. He had fought fires, natural and manmade disasters, saved hundreds, maybe thousands of lives— and then a villain had come after him. Starpulse had fought down the power-hungry Praetor, whose physical strength and toughness dwarfed Colin's own, but who had no energy powers, put Praetor down when he attempted to destroy the United Nations building while that group was in session— and that had been the true beginning of his career as a hero. Restored faith in those with powers had led some others to come out of retirement, some new heroes to appear… all thanks to Colin Goddard, the hero called Starpulse.

"We know you fought several other villains," Dad said. "Madlight— that psychopathic laser-powered idiot seemed to be your worst enemy, and the man who was writing and publishing your comics died right after you put him in jail, finally, after your mother figured out how to hold him.

"Past that, we know nothing— but we do have suspicions.

"Colin, in the second-to-last Starpulse issue published, there was a scene showing an alien probe attaching itself to an Earthly communications satellite, and beaming information sent through the satellite back to a planet around another star— a planet inhabited by aliens built along reptilian lines. They— easy, son!"

Colin, on hearing the words "built along reptilian lines" had gone deathly pale, stood up— and a moment later, he'd started to sway, and sat back down suddenly, one hand pressed to his mouth, a look of sheer, unbridled _hurt_ on his face.

"Okay, that's enough for now," Dad said— but Colin took his hand from his mouth, shook his head, made a talking motion with his left hand, a rolling "go on" motion with his right. Dad hesitated, then said, "Colin, I'm not sure I should."

Colin nodded, made that rolling motion again. Dad looked at me where I knelt beside Colin, now holding his left hand in my own.

"Go on, Daddy," I said quietly. "I think he needs to hear the rest if he's going to rest any."

Dad hesitated a little more, then nodded. "Okay," he said. "Colin, these aliens, they seemed… very militant. All carrying weapons, all belligerent. The scene showed one of them summoning another into an office with walls that were literally _covered_ in what looked like stuffed animal heads and mounted weapons, and they spoke.

"The one who had done the summoning told the summoned one to take a destroyer-class vessel to Earth and take by force— no offer of doing it subtly or sneakily was made— every single super being that they could, especially the "superior human called Starpulse," and bring them back to the aliens' planet for analysis and reproduction. They commander also mentioned that their enemies— a race called, if I'm pronouncing it right, the Kholarmath— had sent a probe there years before, apparently looking for allies against the reptile guys, but that it had never sent any information back to the Kholarmath. They showed a picture of the probe, Colin— and it was the device that hit Starlab.

"I think— it was implied the Kholarmath went looking for help against the reptile-aliens, and that they accidentally gave you the potential for powers. That the other aliens wanted you was very, very plain— as I said, the commander-alien gave orders that you, specifically, be captured at all costs."

Colin leaned forward in his seat, gently freed his hand from mine— and covered his face with both hands.

"It was the reptiles, wasn't it?" I asked gently.

Colin only nodded, didn't even remove his hands from his face.

"Not your fault, son," Dad said, very gently. "Just in the three pages of comic that we found online, it was very plain that the tech those things had blew everything we have on Earth— or you had on your Earth— completely out of the water.

"Whatever happened… it wasn't your fault."

Colin only shook his head and shuddered. Dad saw that he couldn't reach Colin, not yet, anyway, and sighed.

"Okay— time for that later," Dad said. "Bedtime, now. Colin, we've put you in the guest room on the third floor— I put some sweats that should fit you on the bed up there, you can wear those tomorrow, until we can get you outfitted better. Brand-new toothbrush and travel-sized toiletries in the bathroom off that room.

"Colin… I don't want to embarrass you, but I need to be honest with you, and the best way to do that is to be plain; son, if you end up not alone in bed tonight, I will be neither surprised nor upset, and neither will Chantelle. We know that Jocelyn's very attracted to you, we suspect that she's starting to have strong feelings for you— and thanks to telepathic pseudo dragons, I know that you two have kissed, even though Chantelle hasn't said anything aloud.

"I honestly don't mind, Colin. Jocelyn has been acting like a responsible adult for a while now, taking responsibility for other peoples' safety, actively working at learning what she needed to know to help the most people she could against the things that they can't defend themselves against.

"My daughter acts like an adult in the big ways— so we're going to treat her as an adult in the smaller ways, and let her make her own choices about who she loves and how she expresses it."

Colin blushed, nodded— and took my hand again, squeezed it.

"Okay," Dad said. "We'll see you at breakfast, Colin— and be warned, we all tend to have breakfast together, alternating houses. Here tomorrow, so you won't have to go anywhere— but there will be a whole bunch of people and pseudo dragons. All the adults here, all the dragons here, and all our kids— Jocelyn's brother and two sisters, and the six Ballard has by his various wives. Plus, all of the kids have their own pseudo dragon pals. I hope you don't mind a crowd…."

Colin looked a little surprised— but nodded and gave a thumbs up.

"Jocelyn, show him to his room, please?" Dad said.

"Just a second, here, Whitey, don't go rushin' them off," Mom scolded. "C'mere, Colin."

Mom hugged him and kissed his cheek, setting him to blushing. "That's for my daughter's life, buster— get used to it, I'm all about the physical affection."

Everyone shook Colin's hand, welcomed him to our world and our _family,_ and Aunt Rose and Aunt Sh'rin both hugged him, as well. Then I led him upstairs, stopped at the door to the room that had been designated as his, took both of his hands and looked up into those gorgeous gray eyes.

"Do you want to be alone tonight, Colin?" I asked.

He shook his head, slowly but without hesitating or looking unsure.

"Okay, well… if I come in there to sleep with you, I'm not going to have just sleeping on my mind," I said, actually blushing a little. "I mean— if you need to just sleep and cuddle, cool, but if you don't need to not… oh, hell, I want you! If you want me and you don't need downtime, then you're going to _get_ me."

Colin nodded, pulled me close, and kissed me, very gently, but with no doubt of his desire for me.

"Okay," I said against his lips. "Okay, then… I'm going to grab a shower in my bathroom, and… uh, do you mind if Royal comes in when we're ready for sleep and stays with us? He'll go out and stretch his wings while we're… busy, but after that— well, he's been sleeping in my bed since my bed was a crib."

Colin shook his head, reached up, stroked Royal's head, gave him a thumbs up.

"Okay," I said. "Okay. Um, I'll be over once I'm clean."

Colin nodded, kissed me again— god, he can kiss!— and went into his room while I went to mine, needing to shower alone because of all the gross that had happened that night. I wanted to be clean when I went to him, and I'd sweated my ass off, and then had vampires dust around me in numbers— I was covered in vampire-mud, ugh! _Not_ sexy!

I showered, cleaned myself thoroughly, washed my hair even. I got out, looked at myself in the mirror on the back of my bathroom door, smiled and thought for the _n_th time that it was no wonder at all that people mistook me and Mom for sisters. We're almost twins in face and body.

I stand five-three— an inch taller than Mom peaked out at already, and I may grow more yet— and weigh a hundred and eight pounds. I've got great muscle tone, but I'm not any sort of bulky— just toned and sleek. My breasts are B-cups, and my nipples, like Mom's, are pretty much always hard, standing up from my breasts as high as the tips of my little fingers. I've got what Daddy calls "runner's legs and a swimmer's butt"— well toned in both cases, with slender-not-skinny legs and a well-rounded butt. My waist is small, making both breasts and butt pleasantly exaggerated. My pussy… well, it's right out there. For my fourteenth birthday, I got Mom to convince Willow to cast this nifty spell that used to be a thing with some lesbian cult of witches, and I have no pubic hair, never will again. Yum! Feels so much nicer, this way!

My face— I like my face. Oval, high cheekbones (but not razor-sharp, like Aunt Rose's— you could shave with her cheekbones, god, she's gorgeous!), strong enough chin, and I get occasional compliments on my smile from total strangers. My eyes are the only thing my Mom will admit that I got from my genetic father, and I'm kind of glad; I have violet eyes. (Mom admits that those eyes are seven tenths of why she slept with him.) I have hair the same color as Mom's, pale blond, but mine's wavy to the point of kinky— heck, it almost manages to be ringlets, but only almost and when it's really humid— and hangs to mid back, while Mom's is straight, and she wears it to the top of her butt. I'm not as tan as Mom, but I'm not pale— I have a light natural tan.

But it's my eyes and my body that most people notice right off. I'm glad of both.

I got my hair dry, or dry enough, at least, put on a pair of slightly sheer panties and a half T-shirt, and went across the hall with Royal sitting on my shoulder. Colin had left his door open, and he was sitting on the bed wearing only a pair of sweatpants, reading. I saw him look at me— really _look_— and he didn't even mark his place, just set the book down and stood.

I walked to the door of his balcony, opened it for Royal, accepted a "wing-hug" (wings around the head— it's sweet), pushed the door almost closed after my pseudo dragon friend, knowing he'd not come in until the fireworks were over—

— and I went to light the match.

Colin was standing beside the bed when I went back, and I moved straight into his arms and kissed him. When we parted— took a while, that, with the stronger sensations of his erection pressing against me allowed by us both wearing less and lighter clothing— then I remembered that there were some things that had to be said before this went any farther.

"There's some stuff we should talk about, Colin," I said against his lips. "Before this goes any farther, I have to tell you some things. Okay?"

Colin stepped back and sat on the bed, nodded, not looking angry or impatient.

"First thing… I'm not going to sit here and say I'm in love with you, or anything asinine like that, but… I do have feelings for you," I said. "Probably only gonna get stronger. You may not be able to believe it right now, but I've already figured out that you're an admirable man, and the whole saving my life thing— and god, if you don't know you're a hunk, you're blind and stupid!"

Colin nodded, touched my cheek, touched his own chest, looked at me to see if I got it.

"You… have feelings for me, too?" I said. He nodded seriously, and I blushed and smiled. "Good. Thank you.

"Second thing… I'm bisexual. Not think I am, not maybe, not a phase— I'm bi. And looking at the people around me, the way they live and are happy together… I know that multi-partner relationships can make it, you know? So… if we get closer, if this becomes more than just two people who are attracted to each other and admire each other having sex… well, that's going to be what I want. You and… a girl. Who wants us both. Or… well, more than one girl, if it comes to that.

"Is that… can you deal with that?"

Colin gave me a look of almost comic disbelief, rolled his eyes, and gave me a thumbs up.

"Okay," I said. "Just two more things, then, and we can stop talking and get to the great part.

"I've said I'm bi— and I have had sex with girls. More than one girl, more than one time… I'm down with the girls and good at it. But… you'll be the first guy I've done more than kiss. Which is not to say I'm going to be inhibited— Mom says I'm to smart to be freaked by wanting sex, knowing what I want from sex, and not being ashamed of either— or, you know, scared. Because scared? Not there. At all. Crazy-eager, ready, willing, wanting, yes – scared? Nope.

"Before you get weird— yes. I'm sure. I'm sure I want to have sex, I'm sure I want it to be with you, and I'm sure I want it now.

"Okay?"

Colin looked at me, touched my cheek, and nodded, somberly, but not… he wasn't upset by anything I'd said, he took me seriously, and he understood that this was at least a little more than casual sex for me. He packed all that into a nod and the expression on his face— talented man, him.

"Good, and thank you," I said. Then I swung around, straddled his lap, pressed myself against him, and said, " 'Let the wild rumpus start!' "

He kissed me, and things got wonderful.


	4. Where Tyrants Rule

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 4: Where Tyrants Rule

After a while of various sorts of loveplay (and discovering that Colin had a regenerative power that made him a sexual Energizer Bunny, made it so he could just… keep going, which, YAY!), we got to The Moment, and I… well, I looked at Colin, and smiled to show him that I was sure that I wanted this. He squeezed me, kissed me, and almost-smiled at me. He tried, and I could tell he felt good, but… still hurt.

"Colin… you sure you want this?" I asked. "If I'm rushing things— well, don't let me."

Colin, shook his head, stroked my cheek, almost smiled again. He looked thoughtful, then rolled me off of him and sat up, sat cross-legged on the bed and looked thoughtful for a moment. Finally, he nodded just a little, and started pantomiming what he wanted to say.

Colin tapped himself on the sternum, closed his eyes and let me see the pain he felt. I almost wept at the expression on his face, that lost, hurt, hopeless expression. To be sure I understood, he mimed stabbing himself in the gut, threw his head back and opened his mouth as though screaming. Then he looked at me, made a circle of his hands, forefingers and thumbs touching, and spread them, expanded them, made the circle with his arms, spread those, expanded them— and silent-mock-screamed again. Then he pointed at me, pointed at himself, laced the fingers of both hands together, tightened them, made a double fist of them— and made that gesture of expansion again— and reversed it slowly, making the circle of his arms smaller— not going back to the circle of thumbs and forefingers, but definitely reversing it some. He looked at me, wanting me to understand— and I thought I did.

"You hurt," I said softly. "You hurt so much you can barely stand it— I don't know how you do stand it, if it can stop magic and pseudo dragon telepathy— but being here with me… that makes it less?"

Colin nodded emphatically, took my hand, raised it to his lips and kissed it. Then he simply held my hand for a long moment, and looked at me with unmistakable gratitude.

"Well, then," I said softly, "let's make it a little smaller hurt, okay?"

He reached for me, pulled me on top of him, and moments later, my world went white with pleasure, and I knew that I loved him.

When I could move again under my conscious control— took a while!— I raised up a little, rocked forward enough to kiss Colin, who met my kiss eagerly, responded as crazily as I initiated.

We did it again, and it actually got better— so much so that I actually went limp after, unable to move or think coherently in the aftermath of the pleasure.

Colin had been watching me, waiting for me to recover and look up at him— and when I did, he _smiled!_

It was a tiny smile, a little thing— but a huge, huge victory nonetheless. I looked at it, fell in love with him for it— then moved up a little and kissed him. That led to us doing it again, and again, he smiled at me whenever I looked at him— just a tiny little smile, but enough to make me feel wonderful.

We took a shower together after that, and made love in the shower— then we got clean, and finally went to bed. Royal was curled up on my pillow, moved to lay above our heads when we laid down, and Colin gave my best friend a head scratch that let him know he was welcome.

When we got settled in, Colin cuddled me. Not just held me, but _cuddled_ me, cradled me to him and made me know by his touch that he was grateful for the things we'd done, and infinitely glad I was there.

Three times in the night, he woke up from nightmares, jerking awake each time with a sharp exhalation that would probably have been a scream if his subconscious mind wasn't refusing him the release of screaming. Each time I soothed him, held him, hugged him and cuddled him until he fell back asleep.

I woke in the morning to the sensation of his hand lightly stroking my hair, kissed him and never mind the morning breath. Royal, through his link with me, knew what I intended to do next, and went to the balcony door, tugged on the pseudo-dragon-friendly rope that hung from the lever type doorknob, opened it, and went out to stretch his wings. Once my dragon friend was gone, I immediately started making love to Colin— and we were in bed another hour before grabbing a brief, get-clean shower and going down to breakfast.

Slayers don't sleep as much as normal people— our bodies heal faster, so don't need as much sleep as normal peoples' bodies do— and I guess super heroes don't either. We were actually the first ones down other than Aunt Rose and Daddy, who were working together to start breakfast.

Aunt Rose took one look at me, grinned, and said, "You look like the cat that ate the canary, Jocelyn Penobscot."

"I did, Aunt Rose," I said, going over and hugging her. "Twice before we got out of bed, even."

Aunt Rose burst into helpless gales of laughter, Daddy groaned and shook his head, and Colin… Colin blushed several shades of red all at once.

He also smiled, just that tiny little smile— which made it worth it.

Breakfast was a gently chaotic affair, with all of my siblings and my "adopted cousins" being introduced to Colin, and it quickly becoming obvious that our parents and theirs had made them understand that they weren't to bug Colin— simply because they didn't. They greeted him, gaped a little— and left him alone mostly.

Mostly. Belinda, my little sister who was ten, did ask him point blank if he was my boyfriend— to which he nodded solemnly. Belinda's response made her major points with me (not like she needed them, I love her half to death).

"Good," she said. "I like you. I was afraid she'd get all together with some guy I didn't like, and then I'd have to scare him off. _You_ she can keep. You'll be good for each other."

Colin blinked, looked at me and cocked an eyebrow.

"I don't know, I just live here," I said. He rolled his eyes, and I laughed. "No, actually, Belinda… does that. She may be a little psychic, Willow thinks— Willow is the witch who activated all us Slayers, remember. So when Belinda says something that doesn't really make sense, we just make a note and wait until it does. We're still waiting on some things to start making sense, but sometimes, it pans out."

After breakfast, Daddy took Colin shopping for clothes and stuff, and I stayed away from it. I trusted Dad not to make a thing of Colin and I sleeping together, and besides— I had work to do. Monday was Activation Day, the day the scythe would activate a new bunch of Slayers, and I had been drafted to help with the commercials and internet videos we were putting out there to let the newbies know what was going on, to try and make sure we found all of the new Slayers.

Not finding them, not reaching them, could be really awful— for them and for the world. For the newbies… it could get them killed. Some supernatural critters can sense a Slayer, and damned few of them like us, so if they found one, and she had no protection of numbers, no back up, no training… they'd kill her.

If they didn't find her and she wasn't taught how to handle her abilities, she might accidentally hurt someone. And in some cases, Slayers had gone bad— used their power for personal gain, or in the service of evil. It had happened four times that I knew about.

Faith, the first "bad Slayer," had bounced back from her own internal darkness, come back to the light, and made herself into a woman I admired and loved (and lusted after— hot, her). She had married a former vampire, made human again by magic, and worked with him training Slayers and fighting the fight out in LA.

Claudia Steele, the worst of the lot, had been working with Amy Madison, the psycho-witch-bitch responsible for the events that led up to the Battle of Bloomington, in which my parents had fought. She'd almost killed Aunt Rose and Aunt Elaine, had killed Aunt Rose's foster sister, Linnea Reardon, and nearly killed a Slayer named Brianne Dayton. Working together, Rose and Elaine had managed to kill Claudia, but it had been a near thing, and if not for some odd magic they had working for them, they'd never have pulled it off.

Heidi Kauffman had gone very bad, had become a serial killer around the time I was eight. She'd been gang-raped only weeks before getting the Slayer power, and had… snapped when she realized that she could pay back those who'd raped her— then moved on to any man she saw or heard mistreating a woman. She had killed thirty-nine men in the city of Berlin before Willow managed to track her down and Buffy, the Prime Slayer, managed to bring her in. She was in a mental institution still, probably would be for life.

N'daré Otumwara of Botswana had made of herself a queen of diamond smuggling, with arms dealing and drug smuggling on the side. She'd ended up dying at the hands of the army in Botswana, blown to hell when she attacked a diamond shipment which had been under military escort. Until her death, she was counted as one of the most ruthless and efficient female criminals in history.

Given these incidents, and the number of girls who'd died at the hands of demons and monsters before being reached, we worked our asses off to make sure that every girl on Earth knew what to do, who to contact, if she suddenly found herself with super powers on May the twentieth of any given year.

I helped however the Watchers and Guardians asked me to help. I didn't mind, no matter how much work it might be, because I knew I was helping— or at least potentially helping— girls like me.

So that Saturday, I worked on the last of the commercials and internet videos. For the video, I simply let a camera team follow me through my daily workout, film me training at the martial arts— including Capoeira, which looks gorgeous when done right, and I'd been at it since I was six, so did it right— my kung-fu-style sword training with Aunt Rose (no fencing training that day, with Lydia Heller, my fencing coach, out of town with Willow, her wife), and my targeting workout— archery, thrown knives, thrown stakes, thrown crazy-discs, then my tumbling workout… all that stuff. It made for good PR, showing girls the kind of things one of us could do, and since I look all cute and feminine, as well as looking like a girl, not a woman, it had a lot of impact.

Colin and Daddy came back and watched my sword training as it ended, then we all went in for lunch. Colin spent the afternoon watching me train and work out, watching all us Slayers, Watchers and Guardians do both, really. He seemed content to just watch, which I figured as a good thing— he needed down time.

After supper, we went to Illinois State University's Center for the Visual Arts and used one of their studios to film a commercial, the last in the series for the year, and one of about ten different series of commercials, all featuring Slayers of different ages and ethnicities. For this, the last in the series, we went all-out, and security there was heavy— all the Slayers and Slayer-support types in the area where there, including some from Peoria, Springfield and Chicago. All in all, fifteen Slayers, six Watchers and four Guardians were in the studio that night— because we were filming a "live fire" exercise, as Daddy called it. Me and two other Slayers, one older, one a little younger, would be filmed while fighting off eight vampires and killing them. Capturing eight vampires— well, I didn't envy whoever had been unlucky enough to have to do that.

So a little after eight, I found myself on a medium-sized, well-secured sound stage with two other girls, waiting for the director of the commercial— a film student, always a film student, but working from a script written by Aunt Rose and Giles— to get everything settled to his liking. While we waited, I talked to the other girls, both of whom I knew from school— which had let out for us yesterday, but neither had gone home yet.

Candace Travers was sixteen, and maybe the sexiest Black girl alive (she hates the term "African American," so I never use it around her or when referring to her), tall, slender but still very female, with a face like an angel and a dancer's grace. (Also, she was lamentably straight— but had been nice about telling me so earlier in the school year, when I'd asked her to go to the Christmas Dance with me.) Candace preferred to fight with a plain wooden spear, great against vampires, and had one now.

Jenny Glaser was just shy of thirteen, had only been active for a year, but was a prodigy— not surprising, since she'd been studying martial arts since the age of five under her father the sensei. She had scary hand to hand skills, and had already claimed ten kills and eighteen assists while on team patrols. She's one of those girls who will, like Aunt Rose, probably be mistaken for a kid until she's in her thirties— her mother is Vietnamese, and Jenny's tiny, four-nine and maybe eighty-five pounds— and cute as a button. She had no significant interest in either sex yet, but was a great friend, and a hellacious-good teammate.

"Okay, so who's the gorgeous guy with you guys tonight?" Candace asked me. "And is he spoken for?"

"That's Colin, my boyfriend," I said, grinning. "Which should answer both your questions, Candace."

"Damn, girl— where have you been hiding him and why did you bother asking me out when you had him?" Candace asked.

"He's only just become my boyfriend," I said, smirking at her. "And gorgeous man or no, he's still no girl— and I'm still bi and you're still a total babe."

"Okay, well— thanks," Candace said, grinning. "Sadly, I'm still straight— if I was bi, I'd ask you to share. That man is just _beautiful_."

"Yes, he is," I said. "And sweet. But since you aren't bi, you're shit out of luck— he's mine, all mine, I tell you!"

Candace laughed, gave me a playful punch in the arm and said, "You aren't just bi, you're greedy, Jocelyn. Evil brat."

"You guys are _both_ oversexed," Jenny said. "Who cares about dating, there's vampires to kill!"

"All work and no play makes Slayers grumpy and hard to live with," Candace said, grinning.

"Yeah, but dusting vampires is playing!" Jenny said, sticking her tongue out at Candace.

"Girl's got a point," I said. "But let me say for the record— Turok-han? Not fun. All you've heard is pretty much true."

"I heard you put one down," Jenny said. "Was he really all that tough?"

"You've seen me with a sword, Jenny," I said. "You know how fast I am, right?"

"Wicked fast, yeah," Jenny said. "I'll catch up someday, though!"

"Probably," I agreed. "But— well, I had the one I killed down, crawling on just its hands— crazy-discs to the hips put his legs out of commission— and when I swung at his neck, even though he was crawling on his hands… he damned near caught the blade."

"Damn," Jenny said respectfully. "Okay, yeah— Turok-han equals run like a bunny, got it."

"Okay, ladies," called our director, "are you all ready?"

We all answered in the affirmative, and he said, "Places please… quiet on the set! All right— 'Slayer Activation; America, number ten of ten, take one. Sound, camera— all right ladies, remember, first and last we can shoot again, but the middle— get it right, and do not get hurt!

"And… action!"

"My name is Candace," the oldest of us said. "Over the last month, you've probably seen me before, seen the rest of these commercials we're doing to try and get those of you who will become Slayers aware of what to do and why to do it on the twentieth of May, if you get Called.

"My friends and fellow Slayers Jocelyn, Jenny and I have showed you a lot of what we can do and talked about why it has to be done. Jocelyn's told you as much as she could about the power you will get, since she's had it since she was born and understands it better than most.

"Now we're going to show you why you need to contact the Watcher's Council if you get the power— because you haven't had our training, and power or no, you probably couldn't handle _this!"_

"Cut!" the director called. "Okay, that was great, Candace— got it in one.

"You ladies want anything before we do the middle? A drink, bathroom break, anything?"

"We're good," Candace said after getting head shakes from me and Jenny. "Let's do this— I want to get my butt back to Chicago, and Jenny probably wants to get back to Detroit. And if Jocelyn doesn't want to get back to snuggling with her boyfriend, she's out of her mind."

The director laughed, called out the security precautions as they were enabled, double-checked with Dad, then started us again.

The eight vampires were in cages around the walls of the stage, and once the cameras had started again, Candace called, "Let them out!"

We made dust. Candace and her spear had nice reach, Jenny had made a stake an integral part of her martial arts, and I had my sword and my crazy-discs. I killed three, one with an assist from Jenny, who kicked him into the path of my sword, Candace killed three, and Jenny staked the last two.

We dusted them all in just under a minute, and Candace, to make it obvious that this might have been _staged_ but it hadn't been _faked,_ looked at the camera as soon as the last one died and spoke.

"Maybe you think that looked easy— but it wouldn't be, if we hadn't been trained. I've been at this for four years, Jenny's been taking martial arts for eight years, from Slayers and Watchers for the last year, and Jocelyn started martial arts when she was four.

"We're trained, and we had each other to rely on. If you get activated, you won't be able to say that— so remember, if you find yourself with the Slayer power any time over the next few days, call one-eight-hundred SLAYERS— that's one-eight-hundred, seven-five-two, nine-three-seven-seven— as soon as you can. There are things— monsters and demons— that may sense the changes in you, and they may try to hurt you.

"Let us help. Give us a call.

"If this happens, you've been Chosen… prove that it was the right choice."

"And… cut!" the director called. "Nice, ladies, very nice. Mr. Penobscot?"

"Let me watch the roughs to be sure," Dad said, "but I think you're right, I think that's it."

Ten minutes later, it had been approved, edited (with computers, and this being done digitally, not with film, it took most of no time at all), and electronically sent to the various television networks and stations that would be running it starting tomorrow. I hugged Candace and Jenny goodbye, said I'd see them in August, and went home with my family.

I got a surprise a few minutes after we'd gotten home. Giles, Kelly, their son Riley, and Willow and Lydia had come home early, what with the appearance of a Turok-han or four here in town— and Buffy, Xander and their kids came with.

A whole lot of hugs and introductions later, I sat with Colin in the living room and explained what had happened Friday night and what we knew about Colin to Giles, Kelly, Buffy, Xander, Willow and Lydia.

"This is fascinating," Giles said, leaning forward and looking straight at Colin. "Young man… your arrival here may have been the accident it seemed to be, but… I do not believe that. I have been dealing with the supernatural since I was a young teenager, been a Watcher since I was twenty-five, and I'm approaching my sixtieth birthday.

"I believe that your arrival here was intended by the higher forces that we who attempt to work their will on the world call 'the Powers That Be'— and I do hope that we can figure out their purpose. My first thought is that you may be in a position to aid us against an upcoming supernatural threat. My second thought is that it may be that we are meant to help you recover from the events that left you so traumatized.

"However, it is my _hope_ that we are meant to help each other."

"What he said," Buffy said, smiling at Colin. "But without all the extra words.

"Colin, Jocelyn cares about you a lot, we can see that. Maybe more important, from our end of things, we can see that you care a lot about her. Well, around here, that translates to 'we want to help you both,' which means helping you for both of your sakes."

"Yeah," Xander said, adjusting the eye patch over his empty left socket slightly. "Jossie is one of our favorite people, we love her, and we want to help her. So you're stuck with us trying to help you. We'll probably annoy the heck out of you trying, but… that's the price you pay for loving one of ours."

"Don't call me Jossie," I scolded gently. "Remember, Xander, I know your middle name."

"Uh, yes, Jocelyn," Xander said immediately. "Whatever you say, Jocelyn."

"Willow, do you think you might try to get past Colin's barriers magically?" Giles asked, looking at Willow— red headed, small, fair, didn't look close to her thirty-seven years any more than Buffy looked her age— where she sat curled up against the side of her wife (and my fencing coach) Lydia Heller, who was forty and looking thirty.

"If push comes to shove, I will," Willow said, her head still on Lydia's shoulder. "But I don't want to if I don't have to. Giles, mind magics… really, really touchy. And dangerous. I'd rather wait, see if Diane can help him, or if just time and distance from whatever happened— and being part of our family, and Jocelyn's boyfriend— don't help him naturally."

"Hmm, yes," Giles said. He absently stroked the scales of his small, silver pseudo dragon friend, Bookmark, and nodded. "Yes, of course, you're quite correct.

"Colin, the Watcher's Council has on retainer a lady who is both a psychiatrist and a psychologist, and she is also a friend. Would you be willing to speak wi— I beg your pardon, would you be willing to work with her towards getting over your difficulties?"

Slowly, almost unwillingly, Colin nodded.

"It's the right choice," Kelly, Giles's wife and Aunt Rose's mom, said firmly. "Colin, I know that you think you've done something horrible— but think on this; won't it be worth the effort of working your way past it… to be able to say Jocelyn's name?"

Colin nodded more firmly, that time, and I hugged him hard, even as Kelly's pseudo dragon, a deep green girl named Titania (for the queen of the Faeries) flew over and landed on Colin's lap, settled down, and looked up at him until he started petting her. She then settled in completely, and soon was making the bubbling, crackling sound that is a pseudo dragon purr.

"And that says everything I need to know about whether or not I want Jocelyn dating you," Kelly said, chuckling. "Colin, our scaly friends are not just telepathic, they're empathic— they read emotions as well as thoughts. That ours all like you says you're a good, good man, young man— so welcome home.

"And on that note, we have a long tradition of 'welcome to the family' dinners— think you can work out a way to tell me what you'd like?"

Colin looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded. He disentangled himself from me and Titania, stood up, bent at the knees, pulled his fists up towards his armpits, and scratched the ground with his feet while flapping his elbows and jerking his head in and out.

Xander whooped with surprised laughter as the rest laughed at a more normal volume— and Uncle Ballard fell over sideways on the couch, laughing helplessly as Colin did a _really_ good chicken impersonation.

"Okay, do you prefer fried or baked?" Kelly said around a laugh— and Colin held up one finger, indicating the first of the two, and making the rest of us grin. (Kelly makes the absolute best fried chicken on Earth, from a recipe she got from her mom.) "And what would you like with it?"

Colin held the index fingers and thumbs of his hands a little apart, making an oval before his face— then ground one fist repeatedly into his other hand. Buffy got it first, and managed to say, "Mashed potatoes?" around a giggle.

Colin nodded, then held up an invisible ear of corn and pretend-munched the kernels off of it from left to right. For a finisher, he plucked something from an invisible container, juggled it from hand to hand, then split it open, spread something on it, closed it and munched on it.

"Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob and biscuits, then?" Kelly said, still laughing.

Colin nodded, then gave her a flourishing bow.

"My god, you're good at that," Buffy said. "Were you an actor?"

Colin shook his head, held open an invisible book, flipped pages, put it aside, grabbed another off of a stack, did the same, made notes on the air, then looked at her to see if she'd gotten it.

"College student?" she asked, and Colin nodded again.

Then he pulled an imaginary coin from his pocket, flipped it, looked at it on his wrist, then polished and put on an invisible badge, drew an imaginary gun, spoke to an invisible microphone.

"You were maybe gonna be a cop?" Willow said.

Colin gave her a thumbs up, flipped and looked at his imaginary coin again, then stood and mouthed words at us all while making a broad, sweeping gesture with one arm— then dropped from his pose and pointed at Buffy.

"Either a cop or an actor?" Buffy guessed— and grinned when he gave her the thumbs up. "I'm good— and you'd be one hell of an actor. If you were half that good at the cop stuff, I can see why it'd be a hard choice."

Colin bowed to her and sat back down beside me.

We talked a while, then Colin and I went for a walk around the neighborhood— all of six houses in four BIG blocks, most of them belonging to my extended family, with Vincent and Vi living across the street from us and Willow and Lydia having the smallest house on the block on the other side of us from Scooby Mansion, where Giles, Kelly and their son shared the big mansion with Uncle Ballard, my many aunts, and their six kids.

After that, we went to bed, made love, and went to sleep— this time in my room.

Sunday was really mellow, just lots of family time, some light training— really light, mostly just sparring with Buffy and playing with crazy-discs— a dinner of Grandma Riley's fried chicken at Scooby Mansion (Colin loved it as much as the rest of us, and managed to make his delight made known to Kelly repeatedly and often), then a movie on the gigantic TV in the living room of the mansion before going home to bed. Vincent, Vi and their two girls got home from Sydney about bedtime, but we didn't see them until the next day.

Monday… Monday was Activation Day, and we made a thing of it, in a non-thing sort of way. I mean— well, big breakfast— no surprise— then we all sat and talked for a while, _all of us_— Mom, Dad, Gwendolyn, me, my sibs, Colin (okay, he just listened and pantomimed), Uncle Ballard, Aunt Dawn, Aunt Rose, Aunt Sh'rin and Aunt Elaine, their kids Nathaniel (thirteen and Sh'rin's bio-son), Linnea (twelve and Dawn's bio-daughter), Autumn (just short of twelve and Sh'rin's again) the twins, Graham and Erin (ten and Elaine's biologically) and Michael (eight and Rose's), Giles and Kelly and their son Riley (fourteen), Xander and Buffy and their twins, Alex and Joyce, aged not-quite thirteen, Vincent and Vi and their girls, Beth and Cathy, eleven and eight, respectively, and Willow and Lydia and their little girl (adopted, but SO well loved!) Elise, who's seven. Add in a pseudo dragon for everyone but Colin, and yowza, that's a lot of people! (Yes, pseudo dragons are people. You don't have to be human to be people!) Seventeen adults (counting Colin), sixteen kids (counting me) and thirty-two pseudo dragons. (Thirty-one pseudo dragons, actually, but I'll get to that in a minute, and with thirty-one around, you can imagine how easy it was to miss one, right?) We sat outside on the back patio-slash-veranda of Scooby mansion, most of us, though a lot of the kids played in the yard, and we just… talked. Colin listened, watched people, and I think he started to see that we really are one big family.

"Diane Hodges will be here sometime tomorrow, Colin," Giles said. "She'll start working with you as soon as you're comfortable with it, and I do hope you will give her your best efforts— she's very good, but she can't help you if you resist her overmuch."

Colin nodded somberly, then cocked his head. We'd all come to know that posture, and we waited for him to work out his pantomime. After a moment, he stood, felt along an invisible wall for a moment, then struck at it with a hammer, or maybe a pick, hard and repeatedly. He then looked at us all, waiting.

"You intend to work really hard," Lydia said. "Good."

Colin nodded, then walked over to kneel in front of me. He tapped himself on the chest, pointed at and moved his mouth, then put one hand over his heart, closed it slowly and loosely, placed it in the middle of my chest, opened it and pressed against my breastbone firmly. I got all teary and leaned forward to kiss him really hard and pretty long. Mom waited for us to part to say what she'd gotten (and others, but Mom's the one who said it, which made me love her more than usual).

"You'll work at gettin' past your hurt," Mom said slowly and in a voice that just oozed approval, "so that you can tell Jocelyn you love her, right?"

Colin kept his eyes locked on mine while he nodded— and I kissed him again, more emphatically than the last time.

"I love you, Colin," I said when we broke. "I love you, too."

"That's sweet," Aunt Dawn said, smiling. "Keep him, Jocelyn."

"Bet on it," I said.

About then, Linnea came running over to us, smiling so wide it must've hurt, and stopped in front of Dawn, her bio-mom. (All of those kids called their biological mom just "mom," and the other women in that group marriage first-name-plus-mom. So to Linnea, Dawn was "Mom," and Aunt Elaine, as example, was "Elaine-mom. It worked, and my sisters had adopted it, called Mom and Dad's girlfriend "Gwen-mom." My brother thought that too childish, and stuck with Gwendolyn, as I did.)

"Mom, everybody, guess what? You know where Lightning is?" Linnea asked, referring to her bright yellow-white pseudo dragon friend.

"No, where is she, honey?" Ballard asked.

"She's on the top shelf of the pantry off of the kitchenette on the third floor," Linnea said, dancing in place and smiling more widely. "She's in her _nest!"_

We whooped as one, except for Colin, and Aunt Rose hastened to explain at his puzzled look.

"Pseudo dragons don't normally nest, Colin," she told him. "They only make a nest when they're ready to lay eggs!"

"She already did, Rose-mom," Linnea bubbled. "She laid four eggs, and she says it could be just six days, since there are only four, instead of the usual seven or eight days."

Colin looked puzzled, and Giles guessed why, having thought of this himself back when I was a baby, and Glitter, Aunt Rose's pseudo dragon friend, had laid the first clutch of pseudo dragon eggs ever hatched on Earth.

"I suppose you're thinking of the gestation times of earthly birds, Colin?" Giles said, and Colin nodded. "Yes, I was puzzled by that, too, the first time. Chickens, as example, take roughly three weeks from laying to hatching, and pseudo dragons are far more complex and intelligent than any chicken will ever be, so one might expect them to take longer. However, Rose set me straight. On their native world, pseudo dragons are prized as wizards' familiars in part because they are highly magical creatures. As Rose pointed out, that magic allows for unusually quick development."

Colin nodded acceptance— and we all started talking about the impending arrival of baby pseudo dragons.

We had lunch at noon, hamburgers and hot dogs cooked on the grill, then sat, talked and waited. At a few minutes before two in the afternoon, Buffy went inside and got the case that held the Scythe, the weapon that had allowed Willow to activate all the Slayers in the world fifteen years before that day. Buffy brought it out, laid it on the ground in the shade of the patio, and we all waited and watched— all of us, adults, kids, pseudo dragons, Watchers, Slayers, Guardians.

At a couple of minutes past two, the Scythe lit up with a brilliant white light, seeming to burn from within. Even as it did so, Willow gasped quietly, smiled a "hello, old friend" smile, and leaned on Lydia a bit.

For most of thirty seconds, the scythe burned— and when it went out, we heard the sound of someone falling to the ground— not a cry-out kind of sound, like someone had been hurt, just the thump of butt on concrete and a little gasp.

We all looked around to see Autumn Jane Innes, Ballard and Sh'rin's second child, not quite twelve years old, sitting on the ground and staring at the Scythe in shock and wonder.

"Spirits of Earth and Sky!" Autumn said in a low, wondering voice. "Mom, Dad, all of you— I feel it! I feel the Scythe! I feel— I'm a _SLAYER!"_

We laughed, we hugged her— and the rest of the day became one long party in celebration.

At nine the next morning, Giles called everyone over to Scooby Mansion— well, not everyone, just Slayers, Watchers and Guardians. Autumn wasn't called, being totally untrained. Dad invited Colin along, too, and Willow and Lydia came.

We went to the library at Kelly's direction, and we found Giles there talking to a forty-something man in a slightly rumpled dark gray suit. The man's hair looked mussed, too, and he needed a shave, but he was handsome in a scholarly way— little round glasses made him look bookish, and he had a thin, sensitive-looking face, and a forehead that looked high, despite a full head of graying brown hair.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is Mr. Greg Hardesty," Giles said once we'd all sat down. "He has come to us with information that we will need to act on— but I wanted you to hear his information for yourself. Sir, if you would be so kind?"

"Certainly," Hardesty said, his voice sounding faintly British. "Ladies and gentlemen, I am a lawyer employed by Amnesty International. My normal duty station is Seoul in the Republic of Korea. I have flown from there to advise you of a situation that I believe requires your attention. I've been awake for some time, so please, forgive my less-than-stylish appearance.

"I will be direct; most of my duties for Amnesty International involve cataloguing the many human rights violations of the Democratic People's Republic of Korea— more commonly known as North Korea— and its dictator, the damnably long-lived Kim Jong Un. I have been at this work since very early in the millennium, and I have made many sympathetic contacts in these last sixteen years. Yesterday, one such contact called me and advised me of the situation that I bring to you.

"My contact is a citizen of North Korea, and works for a very large grocery supply warehouse there, driving a delivery truck for that company. The company has many government contracts— including delivering supplies to many of the prison camps in the northern part of the country. Yesterday, very early in the morning— just after four AM, local time— Minh made his first stop at a prison camp some thirty miles north of Pyongyang, the capital city of North Korea, and he witnessed… something extraordinary.

"Minh saw a young girl— twelve or so, he thought, though she's fourteen and undernourished— who was working on digging a ditch for some unknown reason, suddenly straighten, drop her shovel, and clutch her head. A moment later, she fell to the ground, and a guard went to pull her to her feet. The guard grabbed her by the arm, jerked her up— and she shoved him away.

"The guard, according to Minh, flew away from her at impossible speeds, and didn't hit the ground for a good eight meters.

"Several other guards then attacked her, and Minh said she fought them off, hospitalized four— broken bones, mostly, though one had a nasty concussion. In the end, they overpowered her— but it took nine guards to do so."

"Oh, damn," Buffy said. "Giles?"

He knew what she wanted, the two of them being as close as any father and daughter, and having worked together for years.

"Four in the morning in Pyongyang is two in the afternoon here, Buffy," Giles said. "This girl is one of ours, almost certainly."

"Oh, shit," Buffy said. "A Slayer in a prison camp… Mr. Hardesty, do you know why she's there?"

"She's in that camp because her mother married a Japanese man— and was foolish enough to bring her daughter back to North Korea with her when the father died five years ago." Hardesty said. "She's lived the last five years of her life in that camp— simply because her father was Japanese."

"Shit!" Xander said. "Is she— will they kill her?"

"They haven't yet," Hardesty said. "But they very probably will, I'm afraid."

"No way," Dad said. "Willow, can you get her out?"

"I could, maybe," Willow said. "But Whitey… it'd be big and loud and noisy. And really, really obvious that it was magic, and I'd have to have major back up to keep me safe while I worked the magic— teleporting is nasty, and over the distances involved to get her here? Or even just out of North Korea? Bad, hard, ugly work."

"Okay, so… Mr. Hardesty, can you get us maps and satellite photos of the area?" Ballard said. "I think we're looking at a frontal assault, Slayer style."

"We can't," Xander said, slamming his fist on the table. "Ballard, it'd be way, way too obvious if a bunch of girls go in and take her out. We can't cause an international incident like that, we'd lose the support of probably two-thirds of the governments that make nice with us now."

"There has to be a way," Kelly said, grimacing. "We can't leave her there— my god, what if they manage to force her to work for them? The damage she could do, and the hell they'd put her through to make her do what they want? We can't risk the first or allow the second!"

After a few more minutes, Giles had Kelly take Mr. Hardesty off to a guest room to sleep— he'd been awake and traveling for almost twenty hours by then— and when she came back, we got handed a possible solution.

"There's got to be some way to get her out," Xander said. "Something we're missing… Vincent, you're Mister Super Soldier, can you see anything?"

(Vincent is only mostly human biologically— he was genetically engineered to be the perfect soldier, and has ape, dolphin and big cat DNA mixed in with carefully chosen human DNA [Willow had to help him and Vi have kids with magic]— see Aunt Rose's book for how he hooked up with us and became a Watcher.)

"I'm sorry, Xander, but short of a military action, I can't—" Vincent started.

He was interrupted by a hand slapping the table, very loudly— and everyone looked around at Colin, who'd done the slapping.

Colin stood up— and kept going up until his head brushed the fifteen-foot ceiling. He floated there, glowing that golden-white color of his powers, crossed his arms, and cocked his head at us, plainly saying, "Will this do?"

"Oh, my," Giles said into the sudden silence. "I do believe we may have a solution…."


	5. The Great Escape

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 5: The Great Escape

The next hour got nuts as we tried to plan an extraction of our poor Korean Slayer fast enough to execute it that afternoon, so we could strike at oh-dark-thirty Pyongyang time— but we couldn't. Too much to plan, too many things to learn first, too many arguments to be settled.

In the middle of the first muddle of arguments, Diane Hodges, psychiatrist/psychologist and excellent therapist, arrived from the airport, having come to work with Colin on getting past whatever had traumatized him and left him speechless. Diane is sixty, looks it, but carries it well. She's in great shape for her age, good shape for any age, and has a face that radiates authority when she needs it to— but is likable all the time.

Poor Diane came into the library, ushered by Giles and Kelly's son, Riley, and walked in just as Dad was saying, "Absolutely not! Dammit Jocelyn, this is an unnecessary risk!"

"It is not unnecessary!" I cried. "Dad, I'm the only logical choice for this, because I am sneakier than any other Slayer you have quick access to, I know my powers better than most, I have the skills needed to fight if I have to— and I know when _not_ to fight!

"Add in that I'm close to Colin, understand him quicker and better than anyone else, and there's no better choice!"

"Whitey, I'm afraid Jocelyn raises some very valid points," Kelly said, "and I think—"

"She's _NOT_ GOING INTO A KOREAN PRISON CAMP, DAMMIT!" Dad yelled.

Kelly, Giles, Buffy, Mom, Xander and I all tried to speak at once— and Diane put two fingers in her mouth and produced one of those loud, ear-drilling whistles that shut you up while making you wince.

"What in the blue blazes has got you people shouting at each other!?" Diane asked. "You all get along better than most blood families, have for years— so what's got everyone upset? Rose— you tell it, you're the writer."

Rose summed it up, and Diane nodded, looked at my Daddy, and said, "Whitey. You love your daughter, I know that— you loved her before she was born, I know that, too. But I need you to tell me truthfully… is she right? Are the others right?

"Is Jocelyn the best choice for this from a standpoint of ability, with no emotional attachments allowed? Put on your Watcher hat, Whitey."

For a long moment, Dad sat silently. When he spoke, his voice was firm.

"I can't take _off_ my father hat, Diane," Dad said, "but from the standpoint of a Watcher, she's the best choice here. However… there are others who could do this as well or better, and one of them is currently in Japan, which is closer to the objective in the first place!"

"And does that truly make a difference, since the mission to rescue this girl— which must be done, and done soon, I agree with that— will be launched from here?"

Dad sagged. "No," he said softly. "It doesn't.

"Jocelyn… we plan this. Every contingency possible, we plan them out— and we put all the back up we can in place, up to and including a squad of Slayers ready to go in and back you up if they have to. Can you do it that way, honey?"

I went and slid into his lap, hugged him hard, and said, "Yes, Daddy— but you don't go. You have… responsibilities. You wait here. Colin will get us out, safe and sound."

"Wait, I see no reason why Whitey should not be along as your Watcher, Jocelyn," Giles said. "Not to go with you into the camp, but to wait at the extraction point, advise you and—"

"No," I said. "Daddy can do that from here— for on-site support, I want Brian. He can hack anything, keep me ahead of the bad guys by getting inside their intel. Daddy can't go— he has another responsibility that says he stays here."

(Brian is Brian Keller, an old, old friend of Aunt Rose's, and the man in charge of running the Watchers' Council computer network. He could probably hack into the freaking NSA computers, if he felt there was a need— and do it in five minutes, without getting caught. Nothing in North Korea's computer system would even slow him down.)

"What could possibly—" Giles started.

"Giles," Dad interrupted. "Jocelyn's right— she has a piece of information you don't. We were going to tell everyone last night, and it got lost in the shuffle… Gwendolyn's pregnant."

"Oh, my," Kelly said, smiling. "Congratulations!"

"Er, yes, that does put a different light on things," Giles said, blushing a little, but smiling, too. "And yes, congratulations to all of you."

"Jocelyn," Xander said, leaning towards me from where he sat, "you have ideas, that's pretty obvious. How do _you_ want to do this?"

"Well, I don't have much," I said. "Just… I know who I want to go along, and in what capacity."

"Talk to us," Xander said.

"Okay, Daddy advises me by radio, keeps an eye on things through video feed," I said. "But he has to do that, he's my Watcher— and my dad. No argument there.

"For back up, close by but not visible, I want a half a dozen Slayers— as many as possible Asian, and all ready before one PM local time tomorrow, which is three AM Pyongyang time, right? We can't do this before then. I want Satsu from the Tokyo branch in charge there, or Lissette from DC if Satsu's busy— I know them, I've trained with them, I trust them.

"The actual extraction team… Xander, you're right, we can't have too many Slayers visible if it can be helped, so the extraction team is three people; me, Colin and Vincent. Vincent's all military, nobody could possibly mistake a six-foot-eight-inch Hercules-type for a Slayer, we're all female. Add in that despite his size, he's sneaky as hell, that he's stronger, tougher and faster than an ordinary human, and that he's got military knowledge he's never even _used_ in his head, and I want him along.

"So… Colin makes a loud distraction, Vincent and I go in, I get the girl while Vincent watches my back, and Colin sets free all the other prisoners there so that no one ever even thinks 'this was all about that super-strong girl,' or at least can't accuse anyone of it being about her.

"We grab her, Colin puts their equipment out of commission and some of their people into sleepy-bye-land, and we get out while things are nuts. Colin, can you fly me, Vincent and another girl out of there, if we rig it so that you can carry us all comfortably?"

Colin nodded firmly, gave me a thumbs up.

"Vincent, are you game?" I asked.

"I am," he said. "I will follow your orders, Jocelyn."

"Okay," I said, turning to look up at Dad. "Can we do this?"

"I'm not the judge to ask," Dad said. "I'm too involved, sweetheart. So… Giles?"

Giles looked at Buffy, who shook her head, not in denial, but in admiration. "Giles, I couldn't have roughed it out any better. Jocelyn, you're good at this!"

"Look at my teachers," I said, waving around the table. "Look at how long I've had the benefit of you guys teaching me what I need to know.

"There's the rough plan. You guys flesh it out, I'll do my best to make it work."

"From the sound of it," Giles said, giving me one of his 'you did it right' smiles, "Mi Kyong Takeda will be safe and in the hands of those who care about her inside of thirty hours."

"What about her mom?" I asked. "Shouldn't we get her, too?"

"I'm… afraid her mother died last year," Giles said. "Mi Kyong is an orphan, Jocelyn."

"Then we have to get her out and give her a family," I said. "You've been doing that for years, though— so no big there."

That got me grinned at, and I sat in Dad's lap, Mom holding one of my hands and one of Dad's, and listened while people planned things around my rough framework. After a while, they had it down, and Dad, Mom, Gwendolyn, Colin and I went home for lunch. Once there, we discovered that the books containing the collected issues of the Starpulse comics had arrived, and Daddy went to read them, to make sure he understood what Colin could do as well as possible.

While he did that, Colin and I wandered over to Scooby mansion, where I found Linnea Innes and asked if she thought that Lightning would mind us seeing her eggs. Linnea got that faraway look that says (to those of us with experience) "I'm communicating with my pseudo dragon counterpart," then grinned and took us up to see. We looked at the new mommy, stroked her, listened to her purr, and assured her that she was a fine specimen of her species, then left her in peace, eating a piece of beef jerky while curled up on her eggs.

When we got back out side, Colin stopped me, pointed at my eyes and closed his. I got it, and closed my eyes, thinking he was going to kiss me. Instead, he picked me up, took a few steps while I had my eyes closed, then stood in place for over a minute. I sat there in his arms (never a bad thing) with my eyes closed, waiting patiently. After a moment, I said, "Okay, give me a squeeze when I can open my eyes."

For over five minutes, nothing happened— then he gave me a squeeze, and I opened my eyes… and gasped.

He stopped flying, then, and we hung in space, maybe a hundred miles up. My stomach did a slow roll, but I didn't feel sick— just sort of like I was on a plunge in a roller coaster.

Far below me lay the Earth, filling my vision in a swirl of blue, white, green and brown. It was the most gorgeous sight I'd ever seen.

"My god," I whispered. "Oh, my god! Colin… thank you!"

He squeezed me gently again, didn't even try to kiss me— and he'd earned the right!— just let me stare down at the Earth far below.

After a while, I noticed that the air seemed a little stale, and I felt us start down, moving quickly enough that the planet seemed almost to zoom at us. Colin… I have no idea how he did it, but he found home again on the first try, and we landed almost exactly where we'd taken off from.

"Colin," I said as he set me down, "I can't ever thank you enough for that— I love you!"

I kissed him— and took him to bed, where we cuddled for a good while, then made love before going down to join in the sparring session going on in the back yard. After that, I sat and talked with Buffy and Aunt Rose about what I'd be doing the next day, while Daddy sat with Colin, going over the things he'd learned from reading the comic collections, while Diane Hodges listened, watched and took notes.

Diane had brains— she didn't bug Colin, didn't push him to "talk" to her, to start working with her, not then. She did tell him that she thought they should maybe start Thursday, the day after the rescue effort, and he nodded.

After a big dinner, we all sat down to go over what Dad and the others had worked out about the mission the next day.

With the cooperation of Amnesty International, we had an in to Seoul, South Korea, and Colin and I would go there by magical gate. (Royal would go, too— but he'd wait there, not go into enemy territory with me. He didn't like it— but he understood it. Pseudo dragons are not bulletproof.) Magical gates were not the same as teleporting, and only had to have a friendly and powerful witch or wizard on either end, with time to work and no attacks incoming. Satsu's team from Japan would supply us a friendly wizard on that end, and Willow would handle things on this end.

Once in, we'd fly under Colin's power to a place over the prison camp where Mi Kyong Takeda was being held, and I'd get her out under cover of Colin doing violent things to a lot of North Korean property, while Vincent covered my back.

Giles got Mr. Hardesty to teach me several Korean phrases, and I parroted them over and over and over until I had them all down. We had no clue about whether or not Mi Kyong spoke English, so I had to learn enough Korean to give her some idea of what was happening, so she'd come with me.

Once I had Mi Kyong out, and Colin had made sure all the rest of the prisoners were free, Colin would carry me, Mi Kyong and Vincent out in a rescue pod of a type used by the Coast Guard. Where Giles got one of those, I don't know— and I didn't ask. He had it— good enough.

Brian Keller would meet us in Seoul, and would work from there to get all the info he could about things that might be chasing us or might affect the operation in some way— and he'd also crash the North Korean military's computer network when the time was right.

"Kind of risky, isn't that?" Mr. Hardesty asked.

"Not really, no," Giles said. "Brian Keller is to computer experts what an Olympic decathlon gold medalist is to junior high track and field athletes. Add in something that Whitey discovered about Colin's ability to fly, and I suspect that Brian may not even have to crash the Democratic People's Republic of Korea's computers."

"What did Dad find out?" I asked.

"Colin is radar invisible, as is anything that he carries," Giles said— and I gaped. "Yes, Colin confirmed it. He has no idea how it works that way, but it is true. In addition, he can fly without glowing, though it takes more concentration and is a good bit slower."

"Damn," I said, and smiled. "Okay— I'm more glad than ever that he came here!"

When we went to bed that night, I did my best to show him exactly how glad I was. He seemed to get it….

In the morning, we ate a big breakfast— then went straight to Willow and Lydia's house, and down to their basement, where Willow had a room set aside just for working magics. Vincent met us there, kissed his wife Vi goodbye and hugged his daughters while Colin and I got hugged by my family— and we stepped into a liquid-silver-mirror looking thing in Willow's circle—

— And we were in the basement of the Amnesty International office in Seoul, South Korea.

Brian Keller— five six, maybe a hundred and twenty pounds, a skinny little guy with a grin as big as his face and a brain that made up for his lack of muscle by a factor of a hundred or so— stood waiting for us, along with Satsu Hiroshi and seven other Asian Slayers.

"Hiya, Jocelyn, hey, Vincent," Brian said, giving me a wave. He then turned to Colin and said, "Holy crap on a candlestick! Dude— I read your comic!"

Colin nodded, smiled a little bit, and Brian dropped it— someone must have told him not to make a deal of it, and if I found out who, they'd be getting hugged big time.

Brian led us upstairs to a conference room that AI was loaning us, and showed us photographic maps of the prison camp we'd be invading. He'd even picked out where Mi Kyong was being held by hacking into the camp's video surveillance system and scanning until he saw her face when a guard took her a meal. The picture was bad, grainy— but I still found myself thinking that she'd be really pretty if she wasn't painfully thin. Her painful thinness made me angry, and I stepped on that hard— angry would be bad while I was working at this.

"I've hacked all their records, but I'm afraid there's almost nothing on Mi Kyong," Brian said. "I can't even tell you if she speaks English— but I can tell you that her dad was fluent in it, and Her mom spoke some, so there's a chance."

"I have some Korean memorized, so I think I'll be able to get the essentials across to her," I said.

"Sweet," Brian said. "Okay… I'm in their system now, and three AM is a good time to go, you called that right. That's when they do lunch, Jocelyn, for the late shift guys— they start getting deliveries and waking people for work at three-thirty."

"Excellent," I said. "I'm so good, I'm better than I knew."

"Don't get cocky," Brian said, sounding a lot like Harrison Ford as Han Solo. (You can't _know_ Xander Harris and not see those movies!) "So… it's a hundred and twenty miles to Pyongyang from here, another ten to the camp. Colin, you can do that fast, even not glowing, right? What's your top end without the glow, anyway?"

Colin held up one hand, moved it along as though flying, moved it faster— and clapped, loud.

"Damn— speed of sound?" Brian asked.

Colin nodded and grinned.

"Okay, I'm impressed," Brian said. "But you should stay subsonic for this one, okay? Sonic booms, sort of a giveaway.

"Okay— so you put Jocelyn and Vincent down here, inside the camp, towards the middle— you can't go straight to the building where our girl's being held, too close to a guard tower. Once you drop them off, you head straight over here to the motor pool, which, as it happens, is right across the way from the cafeteria…."

Brian talked us through the optimum method of extracting Mi Kyong, handed us comm sets— Colin would use an older one than mine and Vincent's voice-activated sets, his with a push-to-talk system, and he'd communicate ready, yes and no via clicks. Dad would be able to talk to us, as would Brian, and we could talk to each other and the backup squad.

We left at two thirty, Colin carrying us in the Coast Guard rescue pod. It had a magic circle painted on the floor, and if we needed them, the backup squad would come through a gate that would bring them out in the pod. The wizard who'd have to do it said he hoped we wouldn't need them, as it would leave him drained of power for days to use it, and I said I'd do my best to see that he didn't have to.

Then we went and got our girl.

Colin dropped the pod off in a tightly clustered clump of tool sheds at the center of the camp, descending straight down fairly quickly, with a sharp deceleration some ten feet from the ground, then a very gentle bump as the hemispherical plastic pod hit the ground softly. Vincent and I climbed out, I hugged Colin, and he rose silently into the sky again, heading off to make an entrance that would distract the guards and raise a panic among the staff. While he flew off, Brian talked us through getting at least _closer_ to the solitary confinement "sheds" (hard metal boxes, four feet square and four high, no heat, no cooling, no blankets, no toilet but a hole in the concrete floor) where Mi Kyong was being held. Once we were within fifty yards, he had us hold and wait for Colin.

I had no weapons but a knife and a nightstick, and Vincent carried only a nightstick— but his genetic modifications gave him catlike claws that would pop out from the ends of his fingers, so he was always armed. This was not the kind of mission where a lot of gear or weapons would help.

"All right, folks," Dad's voice said over the headset radios we wore. "Colin's coming up the main road now— and he's being challenged by the guards. Get ready— it's going to get noisy… now!"

Machinegun fire started as Dad finished— and a moment later Vincent and I head a sort of hissing, humming pulse sound— "ffffzzew!" is as close as I can come to spelling what I heard— and the sound of steel bending.

"Damn, he melted two struts on each tower with a single blast from each hand!" Dad said. "It's one thing to see in a comic, another entirely to see it live!"

"Alarm sounded, sirens coming," Brian interrupted.

Big, whooping sirens went off a second later— and Vincent and I moved.

Between us and the solitary confinement sheds were four barracks-like things for prisoners— grossly overcrowded, the same holes-for-toilet arrangements as the solitary sheds— with two guards on the only entrance to each building.

Vincent opened the two to the west, I took the two to the east. Piece of cake.

The guards, looking alert and sharp, still didn't see me coming. We all had on dark gray pants, turtlenecks and ski masks marked with dark greens and darker grays in a random-slash motif, and those worked great as camouflage in an "urban" setting like that one.

I punched the first guard in the gut, kicked his buddy in the crotch as he turned towards me, then punched each in the side of the neck, stunning them. They carried handcuffs, so I cuffed them to the concrete stanchions that held the barracks three feet off of the ground, and gagged them with their own shirtsleeves, which tore off easily under Slayer strength.

Then I took the keys off of one of the guards and unlocked the door before throwing it open. I didn't say anything— I could hear people moving, see them sitting up thanks to my nightvision goggles— just left the door open and went down to the next barracks, where the guards stood, trying to see what was happening over by the cafeteria. (Colin had already gotten there, and I heard several more "ffffzzew!" sounds— and the building collapsing, men screaming in panic and anger as Colin pinned them in the cafeteria by collapsing the roof on them. It wouldn't kill them, might not even hold them all that long— but it would do the trick.)

I got the second barracks open and headed for the solitary confinement sheds that were some fifty feet from the second barracks. Four sheds, all occupied, Mi Kyong in the one furthest north. I started at the southernmost one— no guards here, these things were just about impossible to get out of, even for a Slayer type. Simple metal boxes, four inches thick, doors bolted shut from the outside, no way to reach the bolts from inside. I opened each, said in the Korean I'd learned from Mr. Hardesty, "You're free, wait until the lights go out, then run!" and moved on to the next.

At Mi Kyong's shed, I opened it, and immediately said in my parroted Korean, "Mi Kyong, I am speaking Korean learned by rote, I do not understand it at all. Do you understand English?"

"I speak English," said a low, frightened voice from inside. "Not in years have I used it, but I speak it."

"Good," I said, and pulled off my ski mask (not easy, without pulling off my nightvision goggles but I managed it), so she could see I was a girl (and a white girl at that). "Mi Kyong, do you know what a Slayer is?"

I saw her eyes go wide, and she said, "Yes, I know of Slayers."

"I'm a Slayer, Mi Kyong," I said. Then I said slowly, so that she'd be sure to understand me, "And you are a Slayer, now, also."

"I… I am a Slayer?" Mi Kyong said. "This is why I am strong?"

"It is," I said. "So… you want to get out of this place, go somewhere where you can learn to be a Slayer— and be free?"

She spoke in Korean for a second— then remembered and said, "God, yes! How do we go?"

"Well, we wait for a minute, here, then— ah!" We heard a louder, sharper "ffffzzew!" from the edge of camp, where the power lines came into the place— and the lights around us went out. Colin would have taken out the generator first, which meant that this place would be staying dark.

Once the lights went out, I took Mi Kyong by the hand and ran for the middle of the prison camp, staying close to buildings and keeping hold of Mi Kyong's (too thin) hand— because every prisoner in the place was out and running like a bat out of hell.

Vincent met us at the corner of the closest barracks, and I said, "He's a friend, Mi Kyong— it's okay.

"Vincent, how's the sitch?"

"Chaotic in a fashion that I approve of," he answered. "With the majority of guards being in the cafeteria, we have very little to worry about, and the prisoners will get out easily. Add in that Colin knocked out all other personnel that he saw, and I believe that everyone has a chance to get free— and with the luck charm that Willow is casting for them, I believe that they will stay free."

"I wish… we could be sure," I said. "I hate to think of what will happen to them if they're recaptured…."

"It is all we can do," Vincent said. "And more than they could have expected."

"I know," I sighed. "Okay, quick time back to the rescue pod."

At the pod, things got weird.

Colin was still working on taking out the motor pool completely, so that the escaping prisoners couldn't be chased as easily— no big deal, or it shouldn't have been.

The problem came to my attention when I saw the eight people surrounding the pod, all dressed in black, and none of them Asian. Two were black, the others white, all male.

"Damnation," Vincent said. "No heat signatures. They are vampires!"

"And me without a stake," I sighed. "How the hell did they know to be here!? Let alone surrounding the pod!?"

"I don't know," Vincent said. He reached to my belt, pulled the nightstick I had tucked in it, snapped the thing in half, leaving me with a nice, sharp stake that was, if anything, longer than usual. He handed the piece he'd broken off to Mi Kyong, said, "You know what to do?"

"I… know." She looked at the stake doubtfully. "But I do not know how to fight."

"Use it if they get too close," Vincent said, breaking his own stick and keeping half in each hand. "If Colin arrives before we are done, I'm sure he will be able to destroy any that we have left."

"Colin's aware of the situation," Dad said in my ear. "I've told him to finish what he's doing— it's taking longer than he thought to totally ruin all their vehicles— but I'll send him your way if it looks bad."

"Roger," I said. "Vincent— you go left. Mi Kyong, stay back at least three paces, no more than five. Okay?"

"Three steps back, yes," she said.

"Go!" I said, and Vincent and I charged the vampires.

We hit them like a pissed off lynx and a pissed off lion (I shouldn't have to tell you which of us was which), and they fought back like pissed off… well, pissed off demons. But I'm good, and Vincent… yowza. He was engineered to be a perfect soldier (but he'd had a personality and a conscience, making him a "failure" to his creators— the bastards!), and he'd been fighting vampires for the last fifteen years. Add in him being stronger and faster than a human (though not as strong as a vampire, let alone a Slayer in good shape) and he was deadly dangerous to the average vamp.

Me, I went into my favorite "I have no sword" combat style, used Capoeira, a Brazilian martial art based in dance and tumbling, to make the vampires feel stupid— and sort of deader than before. Mi Kyong hung back and watched, wide eyed and amazed while we fought— and slowly, she started to smile.

Her amazement quotient quadrupled when Colin flew in over us, glowing gold-white, and lazily pointed his hands at the last two vampires left. Twin beams of energy shot from his hands, impacted on the chests of the vampires— and they dusted.

"Thanks, Colin," I said. "Mi Kyong, hop in— we're getting out of here."

We got into the pod, sat on the padded floor— and I saw Mi Kyong trembling violently. Without thinking about it, I took her hand. She clutched mine almost frantically, and I pulled her over to sit beside me even as the pod lifted into the air, held up by Colin and the steel ropes that ran to its top.

Mi Kyong came to me easily enough, and I put an arm around her and said, "It's okay, now. You're free, and you're never going to have to come back here."

She started to cry in relief— and I held her close for the twenty minute trip back to Seoul, held her and rocked her and made comforting nonsense sounds.

She was tiny, four-eight, maybe four-nine, and at least ten pounds underweight, maybe more. Her face was sharp and angular, too thin— but still pretty. Her eyes were so dark a brown as to look black, and her hair was black— and hung most of the way to her waist in a thick, heavy braid. (Also, her hair— and the rest of her— needed a bath, but that was not her fault, so I ignored it.) I was surprised at the length of her hair, and thinking back, I remembered that almost everyone I'd seen in the prisoners' barracks had had long hair, and those who hadn't had had very short hair.

"I'm surprised they let you wear your hair so long— but I bet it's very pretty when it's clean," I said.

"The— the commandant, he m-made us all to grow our hair," Mi Kyong sniffled. "Then he would cut all off and sell it to places that make wigs. For much money. If told to wash our hair, we knew it lost."

"Bastard," I muttered. "Well, now you can keep it as long as you like, wash it when you want, and never cut it, if you don't want— or cut it every day, if you want."

Mi Kyong didn't answer, but I felt her nod against my shoulder.

We landed in Seoul, and we hustled inside. Because we didn't want to overload Mi Kyong with too much new stuff, only the wizard and Royal were in the basement. The wizard saw us coming, started his spell, and sixty seconds later, Royal settled on my shoulder (Mi Kyong stared at him in wonder and delight) and I led Mi Kyong through the gateway— and into Willow and Lydia's basement.

Vincent came through behind us, Colin behind him, and Willow let the spell lapse. Mi Kyong looked around, very confused, and asked, "Where is this place?"

"You're in the United States, Mi Kyong," I said. "This is Willow, the lady who activated all the Slayers in two thousand and three. We're right down the street from my parents house.

"Mi Kyong… I know this is all moving really fast— but you're safe now. You're in America, and if you want, you can stay with me and my family for a while. Or we can send you to school here, let you stay here in the school year, and go back to stay in Seoul with the Slayers, Watchers and Guardians there during the summers. Or in Japan, or— do you have relatives anywhere you'd like us to tell you're okay?"

"No," she said, and I saw her fighting not to cry. "My father's parents died when I am very small, before he died. My mother… her family hated her for marrying my father.

"I never want to go to Korea again, either Korea. Or to Japan.

"I will stay with you. And your family. If truly you allow it."

"Good," I said. "Now… what would you say to a bath, some clean clothes, and a good meal?"

Her smile was all the answer I needed.


	6. Culture Shock?

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 6: Culture Shock?

You know, Mi Kyong Takeda was the first person I ever met to not be shocked by the apparent lack of age difference in me and my mom. I guess it's that Asian and Native American way of kind of aging in spurts— make twelve or thirteen, stop aging visibly until thirty, look thirty until fifty, then look fifty until well past seventy. She'd grown up with it, so it didn't strike her as odd.

I hugged Vincent goodbye, thanked him for his help, and Mi Kyong bowed to him and shook his hand. I introduced her to Colin, and she bowed and shook his hand, then asked, "How did you… you _fly!_ And you shot the vampires! How is it done?"

Colin covered his mouth with one hand and shook his head— and Mi Kyong blushed and stammered an apology.

"No, it's okay," I said. "You couldn't have known, Mi Kyong." I led her upstairs and out, holding her hand in one of mine, Colin's in the other, and headed across the big yards to my house. "Anyway, I'll explain about Colin after a bit. Right now… Mi Kyong, you're going to meet my family now, unless you… do you need to not be crowded? And… well, if you'd rather not meet my Dad or my brother yet, it can, you know, wait…."

(Despite her shaking Colin's and Vincent's hands, I expected her to be freaked out by men— I mean, come on, it was a prison camp run by scum. I assumed she'd been raped.)

"I would be honored to meet your family, all of them," Mi Kyong said. "Why would I wish to wait to meet your father and bro— oh! Oh, no, that did not— I wasn't… they raped many of the women, but never me. I— to them I am— _was_ an animal. Not to be touched. I have Japanese blood, I am not human. They would not soil themselves."

I stopped and stared for a moment, then looked at Colin, saw the anger I felt mirrored in his eyes. "Do you suppose," I said slowly, "that Wil would send us back there so we could hunt down and beat bloody every single one of those guards? Between raping the other women and treating Mi Kyong like that… they deserve it!"

"It is all right," Mi Kyong said. "I know I am not less than human because of my father. I loved him. He was… father.

"I like that you get angry though. I like it much."

"Okay," I said. "But I swear, it's tempting.

"Oh— forgive me, I forgot an introduction, here. Mi Kyong Takeda, this little purple guy on my shoulder is my best friend, Royal. Have you seen a pseudo dragon before?"

"Yes," she said. "When we lived in Asahikawa, the man across the street had a pseudo dragon friend, her name was Awai— it means pale. She was a very pale yellow. She… liked me. He gave me odd jobs sometimes— helping him in his garden mostly— because Awai liked me."

Royal gave a flapping hop, landed on Mi Kyong's shoulder, and nuzzled her cheek with his nose, making her giggle.

"Royal likes you, too," I said. "And just wait— in a week or less, there will be baby pseudo dragons around!"

"Baby— oh." Mi Kyong tried very hard not to look hopeful, but she failed. After a second, she said in a quiet voice, "Do you think… one might like me?"

"I don't know if it will be one of these, but I do think so, yes," I said. "Mi Kyong… almost every Slayer on the planet has a pseudo dragon companion. Those few who don't, they're… well, they're watched very carefully. The dragons can't or won't say, but we're afraid those girls may be… bad. Crazy.

"But Royal likes you, so I'm betting you aren't bad or crazy."

"Oh, thank you," she whispered.

"Nothing to thank me for," I said. "Okay, we're here. You ready, Mi Kyong?"

"Yes, of course I am ready," she said— and followed me inside.

Just inside the door, my family stood waiting— but I didn't get to introduce her right away. First I had to hug Dad, who grabbed me and pulled me close the second I was in reach. I hugged back, and he said, "Girl of mine, I saw those vampires and I admit, I got a little freaky. But you guys did it right. Well done, Jocelyn."

"Thank you, Daddy," I said. "We should probably have a meeting about the vampires turning up, later. Right now— we have a friend to get to know and to take care of.

"Okay, people— this is our newest Slayer, Mi Kyong Takeda, who's been having it rough for a few years now. Any of you who give her more than a tiny bit of good-natured grief will be dealing with a pissy Slayer, namely me.

"Mi Kyong, this is my father and my Watcher, Whitey Penobscot, my mother, also a Slayer, Chantelle, my…."

Once I'd finished everything and everyone had shaken Mi Kyong's hand (except Mom, who hugged her, big surprise, right?), I noticed that Mi Kyong seemed… unsteady on her feet. I started to reach out to steady her— then dove forward and skidded on my knees, caught her before she hit the ground. Daddy was down beside us in a heartbeat, even as Mom was ushering the kids out of the room, Colin following her, since Stephen had developed some serious hero worship, and would do anything that Colin managed to ask of him.

"I'm so sorry," Mi Kyong said in a faint voice, even as Dad took her pulse and I was counting her respirations for him. "I haven't eaten in a while, and the excitement of… of being here, being free…!"

"Okay, I'm retarded," I muttered in disgust. "I should have thought— solitary confinement in that shithole had to be bad, I should've figured that you hadn't eaten enough."

"Stop it," Dad said calmly. "None of us is used to having to deal with a girl who's been in Mi Kyong's situation, Jocelyn.

"Mi Kyong, do you think you can walk a couple of dozen paces with Jocelyn's help? Just to the kitchen, where we'll get you some food."

"I think so," Mi Kyong said. "I am sorry to be such a bother, Mister Pe—"

"None of that, Mi Kyong," Dad said. "Nothing in this situation is in any way your fault, so stop apologizing. And call me Whitey, please. 'Mr. Penobscot' makes me feel old."

We got Mi Kyong up, and though she was shaky, she didn't lean on me too much. We went to the kitchen, and she didn't aim for the table, but for the sink. I looked at Dad, and he nodded, so I went with her. At the sink, Mi Kyong spent a good five minutes washing her hands, lower arms and face— and I approved. The instinct to be clean hadn't been beaten out of her, cool.

Knowing her stomach would be delicate and fussy, Dad found some leftover beef-vegetable soup— homemade, and Mom makes a great soup— and reheated it while Mi Kyong got clean enough to eat. He put a big glass of whole milk, a good-sized bowl of soup and four thick slices of his homemade bread (heavenly, Dad can cook) on the table before her and said, "Mi Kyong, I want you to do two things for me, please. Try to eat all of this, if you can— and try to eat slowly. I know you haven't been getting enough, but if you eat too quickly, you'll get sick."

"Yes, Whitey," Mi Kyong said. "Thank you very much. I will try to eat it all— and I will go slow."

Daddy gave me a bowl, too— I'd missed lunch— and some bread and a salad. I sat and I ate slowly, pacing myself as a good example for Mi Kyong. She ate slowly, and she did manage to eat everything— but afterwards, she said, "I feel… bloated. Thank you!"

I saw Dad's eyes go dark, and I knew mine had that same angry look, and I didn't look at Mi Kyong for a moment, not wanting her to see. Yes, that had been a good-sized meal— but we Slayers have mad metabolisms, and usually eat one and a half to two times as much as other people of our size— because we need it.

"Sit and relax a moment, Mi Kyong," Daddy said. "Then we'll get you upstairs and get you a bath, something to wear and a nap."

I grabbed our bowls and rinsed them, put them in the dishwasher while Dad cleaned up the leftovers. As we came close together, I said very quietly, "Dad, how many new Slayers did we get this year?"

"Twenty-three, with Mi Kyong, here," Dad said. "Why do you ask, girl of mine?"

"That makes two thousand, one hundred and eighty eight Slayers," I said softly. "You think that's enough to go in and take over North Korea? Depose that bastard that's in charge, put a decent government in there?"

"Certainly it would be," Dad said. "And I admire the sentiment— but we can't, honey."

"I know, Daddy," I said, closing the dishwasher. "But a girl has to have a dream, right?"

Dad chuckled, gave me a one-armed hug, and we turned around as Mom came in carrying a bundle of clothes for Mi Kyong.

"These will fit well enough," Mom said, setting them down by Mi Kyong. "Sweat pants, a T-shirt, and some underwear, socks, and slip-on sneakers. Tomorrow, if you're up to it, we'll go shopping."

"How will I repay you?" Mi Kyong asked, looking worried.

"Oh, it's not our money we're spending," Dad said. "It's the Watchers' Council that's paying for your things, Mi Kyong— and you'll pay the Council back by being a Slayer. In fact, the Council gives a monetary allowance for food and incidentals for every Slayer living with a family— no expense is incurred by having you here, young lady."

"Even if it was our money, we'd never notice," Mom said. "Whitey's gone and turned out to be a financial genius, invested his pay wisely, and we're filthy rich."

"Now," Dad said, "we'd like it if you stayed with us long-term, Mi Kyong. I know, we don't all know each other well, yet— but that will come in time, and since Royal likes you, well, you should fit with us just fine. Pseudo dragons are excellent judges of character."

At that moment, Phantom and Tracer, Dad's and Mom's pseudo dragons, came in. They went to snuggle with their respective partners for a second— then flew to the table and introduced themselves to Mi Kyong by shoving their heads under her hands, setting her to giggling and stroking them delightedly.

"Further proof," Dad said, smiling. He looked just a tiny bit nervous as he went on, though. "There is something that… well, we hope it won't make you uncomfortable.

"Chantelle and I are married, as you probably gathered— but we have a girlfriend. She's in love with both of us, and both of us are in love with her. I realize that's sort of unorthodox, but around here… well, it's almost normal."

"I… do not see anything wrong with that," Mi Kyong said, blushing. "Loving someone is not wrong. There were many in the camp who were put there for loving their own gender, and that— telling people who they can and cannot love— it is wrong. Who you love is your business.

"Will I meet your girlfriend?"

"Oh, yes," Dad said, relaxing. "She's off picking up another of the new Slayers who was activated this year— the girl is Welsh, and Gwendolyn's a native of Wales, so we sent her to do the meet and greet with the parents, bring the girl here, they'll be back tonight. It's not the normal school year, here in America, but we do hold a summer session of school for new Slayers, to get them some rudimentary training and make sure that nothing supernatural comes after them."

"Enough talkin' for now, Whitey," Mom said. "Mi Kyong, you look tired. Would you like a nap?"

"I would like a bath, first, please," she said. "Or a shower. I would be clean before I sleep."

"Mmm, I'd recommend a shower for clean and a bath for the soak and the pleasure," Mom said. "But… sweetie, you're not in the best shape. I'm afraid you'll fall. Would you mind if I went in with you? Or Jocelyn?"

"That would be fine," Mi Kyong said. "For the pleasure of a shower and a bath, I would gladly let your whole family watch over me!"

Mom laughed, looked at me, and I nodded. I'd do that, no problem. I liked Mi Kyong, wanted to help her get well.

"All right, Jocelyn will go with you— and I'd advise you to have her give you a backrub when you're ready for sleep, she's damned good at it." Mom looked thoughtful, then said, "Jocelyn, use the bathroom off our bedroom— no stairs, and we've got the Jacuzzi tub. Mi Kyong deserves some spoilin', I think. Oh, and take this—" She handed me a garbage bag. "— for those god-awful clothes they gave her at that damned camp. We're throwin' them right out."

"Cool, thanks, Mom," I said. I left Mi Kyong in the kitchen while I went to get a change of clothes for myself, then gathered up her stuff, too, and led her to Mom, Dad and Gwendolyn's room, and the wonderful bathroom off of it.

The shower stall and Jacuzzi tub were separate things, and both big enough for four people, if they were intimate. I got undressed quickly, tossed my stuff in the dirty clothes hamper, then turned to help Mi Kyong.

Her clothes were… well, they were _wrong_. Horribly uncomfortable, made from stiff canvas, and filthy beyond belief— she told me that they were never, ever washed, except when she worked in the rain. That's just— god, how can people do that to other people!? And the underwear! Rough sackcloth, cut like boxers, loose and just— argh, I get mad just remembering it! She had no bra— not like she needed one, she had bumps-with-nipples, not breasts, no surprise given her lack of nutrition. (In fact, that explained her being two years older than the average twelve of a newly activated Slayer— it never happened until the May twentieth after a girl's first period [except with me and the three like me who'd had the power since birth], and we'd long ago realized that girls in third world countries sometimes got less nutritional meals, so started menstruating later in life.)

It was a pleasure to put those piece-of-shit clothes in a garbage bag.

Mi Kyong peed, after— not surprising that she didn't think about asking me to leave the room, she'd had no privacy for toilet trips, except for the day or so she'd spent in solitary, for the last five damned years. The expression on her face at having soft toilet paper to wipe with… wow, I still get mad over these things, and it's been a while.

We got in the shower and I let her set the temperature— extremely hot, no surprise— and then I helped her get clean. It took some doing, I tell you— but her unbridled joy at being clean made it a pleasure to help.

She was skinny as hell, and still shaky and weak, so I pretty much played bath girl. Not sexually, just… I sat her down on the seat in the corner, handed her one bar of soap and a scrubbie, then took another of each and started working on her feet and legs while she started on her upper body. Once we'd got her clean everywhere we could reach, I sat her down on the floor, sat behind her, and scrubbed her back while she made little "ooo" and "ah" noises of unmistakable pleasure. Then we tackled her hair, and I admit— I checked for lice and fleas, got the pleasant surprise of finding none.

Once she was totally clean, I stood up and cleaned up myself, and she waited patiently.

"I think… I think I will keep my hair long," she said. "Not this long— mid-back when braided, though, that would be nice."

"Yes, you've got a face that goes well with long hair," I said, rinsing my own hair. "In fact, you're just plain gorgeous. Oh, I know, you need to gain some weight— but your face, Mi Kyong… wow. Beautiful."

"Thank you," she said, blushing and looking down. "You, too, are beautiful— you look like your mother, and she is beautiful. But your eyes… they make me ache, they are so beautiful. I have never seen purple eyes before— I like that they match your Royal."

"So do I," I said smugly. "Thank you."

"May I ask a… a personal question?" she asked, blushing at the thought of whatever it was.

"Sure, I'm not shy," I said.

"You have no hair… between your legs," Mi Kyong said. "I had thought you would have, since your body is so developed in other ways."

(She had none herself, which I thought might be a late-puberty-slash-malnourishment thing— we'd seen it before.)

"Oh, I got rid of it," I said. "Not by shaving— Willow knows a spell that makes it go away and not come back. I love it this way. It makes… well, it makes sex more fun."

"Oh," Mi Kyong said. "So… you and Colin…?"

"Uh-huh," I said, grinning. "And my god, if I'd known guys were that much fun, I'd have maybe done it with a guy before a girl— but I don't mind, really, girls are fun, too."

"So… you like both men and women?" Mi Kyong asked, blushing darkly.

"Yes, I do," I said, not being at all bothered by it— she'd taken Mom and Dad's relationship with Gwen really well. "Colin knows, and he doesn't mind at all— not like most men would.

"Um, I should probably warn you, in the Slayer and Watcher and Guardian families around here, normal monogamy is in the minority. You know about Mom, Dad and Gwendolyn. Well, Willow is a lesbian, you'll meet her wife later, I'm sure. She teaches fencing, one of the several sword styles we learn. My Uncle Ballard… he's got four wives, and they're all lovers— and each one has at least one child by him. Giles and Kelly are a 'normal marriage,' he's the head of the Watchers' Council and my grandpa in my head, and she's his deputy and my grandma in my head. Then there's Vincent and Vi, they're a 'normal marriage.' And that's everyone that lives here full time, though we have constant visitors— Buffy, the Prime Slayer, the one who started all this, she's here now, visiting with her husband, Xander and their kids.

"Okay, I'm clean. Ready for a long, luxurious soak?"

"Yes, please!" Mi Kyong said, and we moved to the Jacuzzi. I got a good look at Mi Kyong as we moved, and found myself sort of attracted to her, skinny and underfed and all. She had this tiny waist that I thought putting on weight wouldn't change much, and a butt that would be nice, once it had some padding. She had a beautiful face, angular without being harsh, with cheekbones that, with a little padding, would look… well, still wonderful, but not harsh. Now, with her so skinny, they almost did look harsh, harsh and arrogant.

Once we were in and settled, side by side with a foot or so separating us, Mi Kyong spoke again.

"Colin and Vincent… they are not normal men, obviously," she said in a lazy, content voice. "How do they do the things they do?"

So I explained about them, taking my time, relaxing in the frothy, hot water and telling her their separate stories. Then, to cover a base I knew would come later, I told her about Aunt Sh'rin, how she had come here from over five thousand years in the past to restart the Guardian women, to join them with the Watchers and help protect the Slayers.

"You speak good English," I said. "Do you read it as well as you speak it?"

"Perhaps a little better, even," Mi Kyong said. "My speaking would get better for reading— have you something I could read? I love to read and it has been… five years since I read a book!"

"I do, too, I've got tons of books," I said. "If you're interested, I could get you a copy of Chosen to Stand— it's a novelized history of the things that happened here in Bloomington-Normal in the months right after the first Activation Day— Aunt Rose wrote it, and she was part of things, so it's very complete— and she's a good writer. Explains Vincent and Aunt Sh'rin's histories better than I can, and how pseudo dragons came here to our world, too."

"I would love that, thank you," Mi Kyong said. "To read for fun… I may have to be made to stop reading for sleep and meals!"

"A girl after my own heart," I said. "What did you read before the camp?"

"Oh, mostly science fiction and fantasy," Mi Kyong said. "Some other things, but mostly those. I had a favorite author, but my parents wouldn't let me read any but the books he wrote for younger people before he died. I know he wrote a great many others, though— maybe I can find those, after I finish Chosen to Stand."

"Who was the author?" I asked.

"Terry… something," she said, sighing in mild frustration. "He wrote fantasy novels that were funny, about a place—"

"Discworld!" I said, grinning hugely. "By Terry Pratchett. Mi Kyong, you definitely came to the right place. I have them all, I love them— Aunt Rose got me all of them for birthdays and Christmas and things, once I started reading her copies."

"Your aunt likes those?" she said, and smiled. "Then I will almost surely love Chosen to Stand. That you love them, too… I think I am home, now. Your family is so kind, you are… are wonderful, and you love the Discworld!"

I chuckled, slid over sideways, and hugged Mi Kyong. She showed no inclination to let go, so we sat there with our arms around each other, her leaning her head on my shoulder, and relaxed until the water cooled from hot to tepid. Finally we got out, and I helped her dry and dress— she was still unsteady on her feet, though not shaking anymore— dressed myself, then led her out to the living room. Mom and Dad were sitting on the couch, Dad with a hardback book on monsters of the Midwest, Mom with a fantasy paperback, her leaning against him as they read their respective books.

"Mom, which room will be Mi Kyong's?" I asked. "Down here or up on two?"

"I set up the second floor room already," Mom said. "Toothbrush and toiletries in the bathroom there, and a couple more changes of clothes. Probably not too bright, given how unsteady she is, sorry."

"It is fine," Mi Kyong said. "I feel better already, and I can manage stairs. After a nap, I suspect that I will feel perfectly fine."

"Well, Jocelyn, stay close to her on the stairs," Mom said. Then she grinned at Mi Kyong and said, "Sugar, do you feel up to a big 'welcome to the family' dinner? With pretty much ever'body in the neighborhood who's part of the Slayer tradition? Or do you think we should wait a day?"

"Today is fine," Mi Kyong said firmly. "I would like to meet all of your friends and family— Jocelyn has told me much about them."

"That bein' the case, what would you like?" Mom said. "We have a tradition of your first big meal bein' what you want. If we can't make it, we'll fake it."

"Oh… pizza?" Mi Kyong said, her eyes lighting up. "And salad. Much salad, and more pizza!"

"That's easy," Mom said. "What would you like on your pizza?"

"How many meats are there for pizza?" Mi Kyong asked. "All the meats. And onions! And oh, mushrooms!"

"No peppers?" Mom asked, grinning. "No olives?"

"No, I like both, but not on pizza," Mi Kyong said. "Thank you, though."

"Okay— Jocelyn, we're eatin' a hair late, about six-thirty," Mom said. "That gives Gwendolyn time to get back. Make sure you two are up and ready by then— we're eatin' at Scooby Mansion, of course. I'll ask Xander about makin' the pizza, since the miserable man won't share his sauce recipe."

"Thanks, Mom," I said. "I'm gonna lay down with Mi Kyong a while— tell Colin if you see him?"

"I surely will," Mom said. "But I think he's been drafted— Giles read his comics, they're going over some things. Your brother, Riley and Nathaniel are 'helpin'' I guess."

"Here's hoping the town's still standing, with those three and their version of helping," I said. "Thanks, Mom. I'll be upstairs."

"Have a good nap, you two," Daddy said in a half-there tone.

"Thank you, Whitey, thank you, Chantelle," Mi Kyong said.

They replied, then I led Mi Kyong upstairs to what was now her room, Royal riding up on my shoulder. Big room, furnished with a king-sized bed, a bureau, a vanity table, a desk and chair complete with computer, a loveseat and a pair of armchairs. It had a balcony, though a small one, and a nice, big bathroom off of the bedroom.

"All this is… is for me?" Mi Kyong said, staring around in wonder.

"Sure is," I said, and squeezed her hand. "It's yours, Mi Kyong."

"I… oh." She wiped at her eyes, muttered in Korean, and said, "I'm sorry, this is just— you are all so— yesterday, I thought I would be killed soon, and today— I'm afraid it's a dream!"

"No dream, honey," I said, and led her to the bed. "It's real. You're in a good place, and there are people who care about you all around, and you're _never_ going back to Korea, okay?"

She wept for a few minutes, I held her, then she sighed, said, "Thank you. I think I need that nap, now."

With that, she stripped completely, and flopped down on the bed, a big, goofy grin on her face at having a bed with a mattress instead of just a floor and a blanket, like I'd seen in the barracks I'd broken open.

"You want company, or to be alone?" I asked. "And how about that backrub? Mom's right, I'm good at those."

"I… do not wish to be alone right now," Mi Kyong said. "Do you mind staying with me?"

"Not at all," I said. I stood, stripped myself (she had, I did— didn't want her feeling awkward), and added, "And hey, more not alone than you probably thought about. Royal will stay, too, won't you, pal?"

_*Of course,*_ Royal sent— and I could see by her wide-eyed wonder that he'd included Mi Kyong in the sending. _*You don't nap enough, I'm not about to let you do it without me, Jocelyn._*

"I can't help it if my metabolism is faster than yours, Royal." I nudged Mi Kyong to roll over, sat on the edge of the bed beside her while Royal went to lay on the pillow, where she could reach him to pet him. I ran my hands over Mi Kyong's pale gold skin, brushed aside her hair, and started rubbing her back, eliciting a groan of happiness from her. "If I napped like you do, I'd never pass a class in school."

_*I suppose I must make allowances for you poor mammalian types,_* Royal sent. _*Poor you, waking too much, sleeping too little— still, you are excellent to cuddle up to— so warm!_*

"And you are so delightfully cool to the touch," Mi Kyong said, already sounding a little sleepy. "And Jocelyn is making magic with her hands… and I fear I will fall asleep in the middle of this, and miss something."

"Nothing to miss," I said. "Relax. I'll be here when you wake up, so Royal will be, too."

Mi Kyong fell asleep a few minutes later, and I very carefully eased into bed beside her, laced my fingers through hers so that her sleeping mind would know she wasn't alone, and dozed off myself.

I woke a couple of hours later to find Mi Kyong in my arms with her head on my shoulder, Royal lying curled up on my stomach with his tail draped over Mi Kyong's hip, and my mom leaning in the doorway, looking at us and smiling.

"Jocelyn, I swear, that's the cutest thing I've seen since Baby Royal slept on your belly when you were a few weeks old," Mom said. She grinned wickedly at me, and added, "If I was an evil mom, I'd've got me a camera and grabbed a picture— but I figured that wasn't fair to Mi Kyong.

"How's she doin', sweetie? Can you tell?"

"She's adjusting, I think," I said softly. "But… she needs time to adjust, mentally as well as physically. Mom… she… she's not used to being _happy_." I gulped, realized I was near tears, but didn't even try to hide them. Mom can read me like a book. A large-print book, even. "Makes me so freaking mad… I still say we should play Avenging Angels. Okay, maybe we can't take down North Korea without causing a stink, but couldn't we ask Willow to curse that shithead Kim Jong Un with, I don't know, a permanent urinary tract infection and really nasty diarrhea?"

Mom giggled, covered her mouth as it turned into a guffaw, and leaned more heavily against the door for a second. "Oh, sweetie," she gasped when she could control her laughter. "You can ask Giles, but I'm pretty sure he'd say no. And Willow, I don't think she'd do something like that without his permission."

"Bets?" I said softly. "Remember mom, Mi Kyong said there were people in that camp just for being gay."

Mom opened her mouth— and froze. After a moment, she nodded thoughtfully, and said, "Honey, I don't think I want to hear any more 'bout this— I want to have plausible deniability, in case you do convince her.

"Hey, it's a quarter to five. How 'bout I come wake you girls at six? Supper at six-thirty, Xander's cookin', and Sh'rin's makin' the salad."

"Sounds good, Mom, thanks," I said. "See you then."

I pulled Mi Kyong a little closer, sighed, and dozed off again.

Mom woke us at six, we dressed and went downstairs. Mi Kyong met Gwendolyn and her pseudo dragon, Moonlight (who came right over to snuggle in Mi Kyong's arms for a minute— she was a dragon-person the way some people are dog-or-cat-people). While she was sitting at the table petting Moonlight, Abe (who'd been outside, hanging out with Uncle Ballard's kids when we came home, and most of the time since— he loves the outdoors, at least when the weather's nice) came over and sat beside her, waited his turn. She loved him on sight, too, and soon had a hand each petting him and Moonlight.

We went over to dinner a little before six-thirty, and I kept hold of Mi Kyong's hand (except for the time I spent kissing Colin hello) while introductions went on. She didn't seem terribly nervous, but some nervousness was inevitable. We both met Rhiannon Owen, age twelve, the Welsh Slayer that Gwendolyn had brought home with her. Rhiannon was about five-six already, a little too skinny, and had a face that just missed gorgeous, managing painfully cute, instead. She had the same accent as Gwendolyn, that "I'm singing even when I'm just talking" thing that I love to listen to.

Thanks to me being sneaky, Aunt Rose had a present for Mi Kyong, gave it to her as we sat down at the table to wait the couple of minutes left before the pizzas were ready.

I'd had Royal tell Glitter, Aunt Rose's pseudo dragon friend, that Mi Kyong wanted to read her novelized history of the months after the first Activation Day, and Aunt Rose did it right. She handed Mi Kyong a wrapped hardback copy of the book, and said, "I understand you're interested in this, and I hear you're a big book lover— so I couldn't resist being the first one of the family to give you a book. And to stroke my own ego a little bit, I admit."

Mi Kyong blushed, stammered a thank you, and unwrapped her own copy of Chosen to Stand. Just visible over the top pages was a bookmark tucked in the front cover, and Mi Kyong opened the book to look at the bookmark, as Aunt Rose had intended.

There on the very first page was written, "For Mi Kyong Takeda, Slayer, friend-in-waiting, family-to-be. May the Powers That Be grant you happiness that dwarfs the hurt you've seen!" Aunt Rose had signed it below that dedication— "Rose Erin Killian— I hope I make 'Aunt Rose!' "

Mi Kyong stood up and hugged Aunt Rose hard— and I grinned, knowing that my Aunt Rose would be Aunt Rose to Mi Kyong very soon… if she wasn't already.


	7. Consequences of Power

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 7: Consequences of Power

Dinner… yow. Xander Harris is a great guy in a lot of ways, but I swear, I'd about sleep with him for his recipe for pizza sauce!

Mi Kyong ate a little more like a Slayer, seemed stunned at the amount of food she put away— then watched in amazement as I finished off the large deep dish I had all to myself.

After dinner, I left Mi Kyong and Rhiannon, the other new girl, to talk to Willow, Aunt Dawn and Aunt Rose for a bit, and I went off to a conference with Dad, Giles, Buffy, Xander, Vincent, Colin and Aunt Sh'rin (who knows tons about seers and other oracular types). We talked about that little vampire ambush that had been waiting for Vincent, Mi Kyong and I at the prison camp— and we got nowhere.

"I can say only that the visionary must have been quite powerful," Aunt Sh'rin said. "To first know precisely where to put those vampires, and second to put them in place after the team went in but before they came out? Someone or something had unusually clear visions, or perhaps unusual skill at interpreting them."

"Wolfram and Hart, perhaps?" Giles said, referring to a law firm staffed in part by supernatural critters, and in its entirety by utter and complete _shitheads_.

"I doubt it," Whitey said. "They've had the fear of Team Slayer put into one time too many for it to be them— this soon, at least. Only been six months since they tried to buy into Intertech Armorers and got caught out. I think the little chat that you, Willow, Rose and Elaine had with them probably still has them running scared. You killed what, four dozen demons this time? That's got to be annoying— and maybe expensive."

(Intertech Armorers is the company that makes a lot of the specialized weapons some Slayers use, and the armor that we all wear when things get hairy enough to call for armor. Wolfram and Hart tried to buy into them in hope of setting up a hostile takeover and getting leverage on Team Slayer that way. Idiots.)

"I do not know who it could have been," Sh'rin said. "But I tell you truly, they have a power to be… concerned over. That sort of precision of vision is… troubling."

"Everyone, spread the word amongst your compatriots— any unusual precision of response is to be reported to the home office— meaning me," Giles said. "In the meantime, we shall table this until we have more to work with.

"Now… another matter, a bit closer to home," Giles continued. "After the effort it took him to destroy all the vehicles at the prison camp where Mi Kyong was being held, Colin became concerned, and managed to communicate his concern to me— I expect that, should there ever be an international charades competition, he could lead a team to victory, he's quite good.

"Colin's abilities involving the channeling of stellar energies are not functioning in the fashion to which he has, over the last year or so, become accustomed."

I turned to look up at Colin, concerned, and he motioned for me to listen to Giles— point, that had to be easier than pantomiming.

"With the aid of Willow and Dawn— whose non-traditional magical style once again came in very useful— we managed to determine some things about Colin's abilities, and why they seem to be working differently.

"The primary difference is one of a very subtle difference in the laws of physics. While his powers do still work here, and are capable of functioning at the same power levels that he is used to… he cannot function at those levels for long. His powers are still recharging, this we know, thanks to Willow and Dawn— but much, _much_ more slowly than they did in his home universe. At home, he would never have noticed a dip in power over the things he did in the prison camp— here, the exercise put him to, he thinks, something a little below forty percent of his usual power levels. If the spell Willow cast is at all accurate, it will take him at least a week, perhaps as long as ten days, to recharge to full."

"Oh, boy," I said. "Okay, you just have to be careful, Colin. No going dry in a fight— now your combat lessons are even more important."

"Yes, well… perhaps more important than you think, even, Jocelyn." Giles took off and polished his glasses, which is rarely a good sign. "There is a deeper concern besides that of Colin simply running out of power in a fight."

"What concern?" I asked, trying not to sound sharp.

"Well… Willow?" Giles said. "I think you might explain this better."

"I'll try," Willow said. "Jocelyn, we think that… well, the magics that brought Colin here weren't meant to bring _him_— I'm still not sure what they were meant to bring, but it was nasty— and so those magics aren't holding him here.

"See, really powerful things from another universe tends to gravitate to that universe. I don't mean dimensions, but parallel universes. Colin is _way_ powerful, so he should be feeling the pull of his own universe, should probably have gone back there by now— but something's holding him here.

"I think that what it is that's holding him here is his connection with the source of his powers, which, if he and I are right, is pretty much a white hole— the other end of a black hole."

"But… how would that even work?" Xander asked. "How does a connection to some other power source not of this universe hold him here?"

"Well… look, Xander, the hole he left in his universe is Colin-shaped," Willow said. "And the hole to the power-source is… well, it's as big as Colin, but it's star-shaped (not literally, but you get the idea), and the star-shaped hole is the same size as he is, but shaped different, and a totally different… um, frequency will have to do, even if it's not the right word. So the holes can't pass through each other, and Colin stays here.

"But if he runs out of power, and that star-shaped hole closes, even for a second… there's a really good chance that Colin will snap back to his universe. Not a hundred percent, no, and it does go down the longer he stays here, but… it could happen."

I must have gone pale. I know that Colin squeezed me more tightly, and Buffy, sitting on my other side, reached over and took my hand, squeezed it gently, even as Dad said, "Jocelyn, are you all right?"

"I'm… I don't know," I said. "Colin… you be careful! Don't run dry, Colin— don't you dare! I love you, and I… you be careful!"

Colin looked at me and solemnly crossed his heart. I nodded, hugged him and leaned more fully against him.

"Sorry," I said. "I just… I just found him. The idea of losing him—"

"Yes, I do understand," Giles said. "Willow does think that eventually, his stay in this universe will cause him to adapt completely, thus eliminating this danger, but in the meantime… do be careful, Colin, please. I have come to like you— and I would not see my goddaughter hurt."

Colin nodded, pulled me closer still— and I said a mental "to hell with it," and slid into his lap.

"Willow, how long before there's no real danger of Colin being jerked back to his original universe by his power reserves going dry?" I asked.

"Maybe as fast as six months," Willow said. "Certainly by the ten month mark he'll have… have made a permanent, Colin-shaped hole here, and that will close the one back to his original universe. As it is… I'm guessing, because I don't know anything about his universe, but I think it would be more like a ninety-five percent chance of him getting yanked home if he went dry now. And since we don't know of anyone magical in his world, or what spell brought him here in the first place…."

"Take no chances," Dad said. "I want my daughter happy, I'm damned glad you're here for my own sake, and you will therefore be careful, Colin. Please."

Again, Colin crossed his heart— then he kissed me, soft and gentle.

The meeting broke up after that, and we went back out to watch a movie with everyone else in the living room.

_**88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888**_

_Interlude:_

"Damn, that didn't pan out," the man said, sitting back and looking at his female companion. "Well, I didn't really think it would. Too easy, no time to get serious forces in play there— and the brat is a _vampire_ Slayer, after all. Add in the gene-gineered guy and… whatever that flying guy was that helped them, and it really wasn't likely to work."

"I'll have another vision that will give us a better chance sooner or later," the woman said. She sighed, stretched, and added, "It's inevitable. I just wish I could control the visions."

"Maybe I'll figure out a way to induce them," the man said. "If I could just get an EEG setup onto you while you were having one, it'd help— but I won't ask you to wear one all the time. Since they don't seem to be coming as frequently since we got you on the meds…."

"I know, but those… I don't want to stop," the woman said, and shuddered a little bit. "The idea of going back to feeling like I did before them… no. I can't do that."

"No blame here," the man said. "It's all about control, baby— I understand not wanting to be that out of control. I used to have… poor impulse control myself. Especially where the women were concerned. But I got rid of that problem, and now… well, I'm more in control than ever."

"Oh, I know," the woman said, and gave him a teasing smile. "I mean… you've never even made a pass at me, and I know you think I'm attractive."

"Not for lack of wanting you," the man said. "But— well, let's just say that while I got rid of my impulse control issues with the women, I didn't get rid of all my hang-ups about women. I don't want to go there with you because it'd totally fuck up our working relationship. Can't have that— we have a bunch of people to kill, some more to humiliate… and that comes first."

"There's a certain amount of sense to that," the woman said. "Besides, neither of us has any problem satisfying our… sexual urges. I know I'm quite attractive, I can always find a bedmate, and you… well, you look a lot like that actor… what was his name? He was in Fight Club, and Panic Room, and Mr. Nobody…."

"Jared Leto," the man said. "Yeah, I planned it that way— only with the auburn hair to make me even more irresistible."

"It works," the woman admitted. Her watch chirped, and she quickly shut off the alarm, then took a small pill bottle from a pocket, dry swallowed a capsule from it. "How do these work, anyway? It's not like I have a normal metabolism."

"It's a chemical used in some nerve gasses," the man said. "Causes cell-to-cell transmission, and targets your neuro-receptors."

"Bloody genius," the woman said.

"Ah!" the man said, pointing at her. "Watch that!"

"Oh, sorry," she said. "Just… tired. Won't slip again."

"Okay," the man said. "Get some sleep— I'm gonna hit some supply shops, some stuff I ordered has come in, and I need a lot more photoelectric line. Might be able to bug the 'Scooby Mansion,' if I can make the damned microbots eyes work right. Trial and error uses up a lot of supplies, I'll tell you."

"All right," the woman said, standing and heading for her bedroom. "Find me a good place to hunt tonight, leave a note if you won't be here when I get up?"

"Will do," the man said. "Shouldn't be too bad, Mexico is a lot easier than the rest of North America. Sleep well."

"Thanks," the woman called back over her shoulder. "Good luck with your microbot things."

He waved, watched her walk away— she had a delightful ass, and a wonderfully _slinky_ way of walking— then turned to his work until the shops opened.

_**88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888**_

_Jocelyn:_

That night, I more than half expected to end up staying the night with Mi Kyong, but it didn't work out that way. Royal did stay with her (I asked, and he said he didn't mind, not when she was still in a "new place" frame of mind), and I told him to call me if she needed human company. Apparently she got by just fine, as he never called.

I stayed in Colin's room with him, and I think I surprised him with my sexual appetites. I actually wore him down, that time— mostly because I was scared of losing him. Okay, probably wouldn't happen, but still, I was fourteen and still pretty newly in love with him.

The next day, Mi Kyong came down to breakfast with Royal perched on her shoulder, and she seemed a lot more steady on her feet. Royal flew to me for a long snuggle before breakfast, and after, more of the newbie Slayers started arriving next door. Giles had two big dorm-houses over there, behind Scooby Mansion proper, and a smaller one— room for eighty girls all together, and it stayed full during the school year— so the girls would have a place to stay.

We all went over there except my brother, who was going to play mini-golf with a friend from school and his father, and I met a bunch of new girls, most of whom seemed pretty cool— but there was one in the batch that I thought of as a bad apple, and I wasn't the only one.

Sherry Plimpton was twelve, big for her age, had very Italian good looks (her mother's maiden name was DiAngelo)— and was a very obvious homophobe. She was one of three Slayers from the US that year, came from a big Mormon family in southern Idaho, and had definite issues with… well, Uncle Ballard's whole family, Willow and Lydia, and Mom, Dad and Gwendolyn. I bit my lip a lot of times that day— she didn't say anything, but I got really, really tired of her physically shying away from touching any of these people I loved.

In the end, it was Mi Kyong who said something to her, and I guess it helped… but it didn't seem like it at first.

About the third time Sherry got up and physically moved away when Aunt Rose came close to her, Mi Kyong looked at Sherry and said, "Why are you being so rude?"

Sherry had the good grace to blush, and stammer— but even _I_ gave her points. She answered honestly.

"I was raised to believe that men loving men and women loving women— romantically, I mean— is wrong," she said (after a couple of false starts). "I'm not trying to be rude— but I don't feel comfortable around… her. Them."

"So… what would you do, make them be what they are not?" Mi Kyong asked.

"No… no, but they shouldn't just… act that way." Sherry looked helpless, then said, "They should at least keep it private."

"That is a bad way to think," Mi Kyong said. She didn't sound antagonistic, just matter-of-fact. "You ask them to hide what they feel, when what they feel is a good thing."

"You think it's a good thing," Sherry said, setting her mouth. "I don't."

"I have seen what can happen to people who love whom they please in other… places? No, cultures," Mi Kyong said. "You know where I come from?"

"You were in a prison camp in Korea, I heard," Sherry said. "Nobody said why."

"Because my father was Japanese," Mi Kyong said. "That is all."

Sherry's eyes went wide and her jaw dropped. "No way!"

"Yes," Mi Kyong said. "I was nine when I was put there, just because my father was Japanese.

"There were many in the camp for similar reasons, some for other reasons. But… Royal, would you show Sherry how I lived? Where I lived? What I ate? And… what my Japanese blood saved me from?"

Royal burbled an assent, and locked his eyes with Mi Kyong for a long moment. Then he turned and locked his eyes with Sherry Plimpton— and after a moment, she recoiled and cried aloud, "Dear god in heaven! How could they— you can't make people live like that! That's— that's not just wrong, that's— no, please, don't show me— thank you. Thank you for stopping… that. I'm sorry, I can't— that was— god!"

"Yes," Mi Kyong said. "Sherry… many people there in that camp, forced to live like… like swine, like animals, perhaps twenty percent of the inmates— including the girl that you asked not to have to see more of— were put in that camp because they were not heterosexual."

Sherry stared, wide eyed and shocked.

"Yes," Mi Kyong said. "It is true.

"That started because someone was raised to think that men loving men and women loving women— or either loving both— was wrong."

Sherry didn't say anything, just got up and walked away, went outside. Giles, ever sharp-eyed, noticed, and came over to where Mi Kyong, Colin, Rhiannon and I sat together.

"Is everything all right?" he asked. "Sherry seemed… upset."

"She's a little bit of a homophobe, Giles," I said, carefully keeping my voice neutral. "Mi Kyong called her on it— and showed her— through Royal— how homosexuals were treated back where she came from."

"Oh, dear," Giles said. "Well… yes, I'll have Kelly talk to her."

"I am sorry, Giles," Mi Kyong said. "I did not mean to cause trouble."

"No, that's quite all right," Giles said. "I would rather nip something like this in the bud than let it fester, Mi Kyong— and your approach may have a greater effect than anything I could do otherwise."

Giles went and spoke to Kelly, who rose and went outside, moving quickly but not running.

After a big "welcome home lunch" at which Sherry Plimpton was pretty subdued, but much less inclined to demonstrate her prejudices, I got "drafted" to help Buffy, Aunt Rose, Aunt Elaine and Mom show the newbies what a Slayer with a lot of training could do. Gwen was excused for pregnancy reasons— she was as healthy as a whole herd of horses, and no way exercise could hurt the baby at this stage, but an accidental blow to the womb area with Slayer power behind it, not good— and Vi and Vincent were taking their girls in for their annual checkups, so it was just the five of us.

While we did that, Diane Hodges took Colin off to a room in Scooby Mansion for the first of his therapy sessions. I kissed him and held on to him for a long moment (he was trembling just a little bit), told him to do his best to help her help him, then watched him go out of sight before letting Buffy pull me with her to the part of the yard where we'd be staging our show-off session.

We sparred, both regulation style and freeform. Aunt Rose demonstrated her sword forms (prettier by far than mine— I'm good, but she's much better), then she and I sparred with blades. We played "team sparring"— and me, Mom and Buffy barely managed to take on Aunt Rose and Aunt Elaine, who'd fought together so much that it was like fighting a four-armed, four-legged tornado that could be in two places at once. Mom and I had a target game— hitting bulls-eyes on various targets with various weapons— then played a new game, one we'd never done for an audience before, where one of us would try to hit a target with stakes, super-darts (big, Dad-created-and-made lawn-dart-sized darts with wooden points to kill vamps and steel fins to give them weight and punch), crazy-discs and knives while the other one of us tried to knock their shots off course with a bow and arrows. Mom was way better at that than me, but I did okay— and we wowed our audience to hell and gone.

"These are the kinds of things that you can learn to do," Buffy said. "Maybe not all of them, no— everyone has specialties. Rose is a goddess with a sword, Elaine can dance her way through hell without a scratch, Chantelle can throw damn near anything accurately, and Jocelyn has a better situational awareness than most anyone—"

"Except you," I said, not flattering her, just telling the truth.

"Except _maybe_ me," Buffy conceded. "Though I'm not getting the field time I used to, and I fully expect you to pass me soon, if you haven't already.

"Point is… you can all learn to do at least some of these things. The other point is… none of you can do them _yet_."

This caused a vague, mutinous rumble (as it did every year), and Buffy grinned. She and Xander always came here when the girls were gathered after Activation Day, and always got this result.

"Okay… you think differently," Buffy said. "So we'll give you a shot.

"I want four volunteers to try and take down… oh, say Jocelyn here— she's close to most of you in age, closer than any of the rest of us."

I blinked in surprise— usually, Mom got this, seeing as how hand-to-hand, while she was very qualified, wasn't her specialty.

Soon enough, four of the girls were lined up in front of Buffy, including Marie, a French Slayer who moved like a dancer, Tamara, a tall, well-built Australian Aborigine girl with the blackest skin I'd ever seen and the prettiest smile of any of the newbies, Isae, a tiny little girl from Okinawa, and Berachah (pronounced beh-RAY-cha), a gentle-eyed-sweet-smiling girl from Israel. While they lined up, we got me gloves and pads, so that if I hit anyone accidentally they wouldn't be badly hurt.

"Okay, here's the rules," Buffy said. "We prefer to operate on the honor system, so if you fail to block something that, had it gotten through, would have knocked you out of the fight— not necessarily out, but left you on the ground not fighting— you step away and sit down. Remember, the people who will be teaching you to fight will be watching, and if we think you cheated and didn't sit out when you should have, that's going to color how we think of you.

"Jocelyn, if any of the four of us referees call you out, you lose. Okay?"

"Got it," I said. I bowed to my four opponents, set myself, and waited for the go signal.

"Fight!" Buffy called.

I went sideways under a really quick series of lunge punches from Isae, foot-swept her in passing, tapped her lightly on the back of her head with a back-fist as she went down, cartwheeled up and drove a carefully pulled kick into Tamara's stomach as she kicked where I'd have been if I hadn't been cartwheeling, landed in the ginga (pronounced "jinga"), the basic, back-and-forth-side-to-side movement of Capoeira, my favorite martial art. Isae and Tamara were clearing the field, Isae wide-eyed with disbelief and Tamara smiling in delighted amusement, as I pushed Marie, who was coming at me in the almost-dance-like steps of a savate fighter, back with a series of kicks, pivoting on my right foot, kicking with my left, throwing my torso down towards the ground for more speed and momentum. Marie backed into Berachah, and while they were sorting that out, I tapped a gentle kick into Marie's stomach. She went to the sidelines, and tiny, innocent, cute little Berachah gave me a hard, feral grin— and came at me with her brain fully engaged.

She moved cautiously, but not totally defensively. Her hands lashed out in short, defensive punches, her feet came in low and repeatedly, trying to trip me up, establish a counter-rhythm to my ginga, and almost doing so. I stuck with the Capoeira because Slayer power lets me pull off moves that would never work in the real world without the Slayer power, the sort of thing you see on a movie screen.

After a series of short, choppy kicks, Berachah feinted a corkscrewing double-punch, but I saw the way her feet shifted and my hindbrain saw the real attack coming, a kick for my thigh, aimed to cause a Charlie horse. I spun out of the power of her kick just as she committed to it, threw my head and torso at the ground, let the weight and momentum throw me into a sideways aerial, and swept both feet at her, one after the other. I kept my right leg pulled in, cocked to kick, let Berachah dodge my leading left foot, then kicked with the cocked right, tapping her lightly in the stomach. She laughed, threw her hands up in the air to acknowledge defeat— and when I had my feet under me, she launched herself at me in a ferocious hug.

"Wonderful, thank you!" she said in her slightly accented English. "I want to learn that, Capoeira is gorgeous!"

"You did great," I said. "You all did!"

(In fact, the first three had lasted a little less than ten seconds— and I'd needed another fifteen, almost, to nail Berachah.)

"Yes, you all did better than I expected," Buffy said. "But… better than I expected and all, you lasted less than thirty seconds against the least-trained Slayer here. I hope I made my point?"

"Oh, yeah," Tamara said, still grinning. "She's a bit of dynamite with legs on, she is. I'd hate to think what one of you more experienced types could have done to us, do ya see?"

"You're all powerful," Buffy said. "But power isn't enough. You need to learn to use it. That's why you're here, and that's why your training starts _today_— right now, in fact.

"Power without skill can save you— but it can very much also get you killed by any of the ten thousand types of supernatural critter who'd love to make a name for themselves by killing a Slayer.

"Rose, line them up and get them started. Berachah, Jocelyn, come here a second, please?"

Once we were far enough away from the group that not even Slayer senses could pick up what we were saying, Buffy looked at Berachah and said, "Kiddo, that was something else. I know what Jocelyn can do, and I was betting on fifteen seconds to put all four of you down. But she needed almost that long just for you. Your dad teach martial arts, or your mom?"

"Sort of," Berachah said. "My father is a close-combat instructor for the Mossad. He taught me how to take care of myself."

I whistled. Mossad is the Israeli intelligence service, like the American CIA, and their agents are supposed to be some of the scariest fighters alive.

"Okay, you get the advanced classes, with Jocelyn," Buffy said. "Jocelyn, anyone else?"

"Isae is well trained, but too traditional," I said. "She thinks in katas. Marie… she could have given me a little more of a workout, if she hadn't been too eager. I think she should have the advanced classes, too."

"All right," Buffy said. She called Marie away from the others, said, "Jocelyn says you deserve the advanced martial arts classes, Marie. You and Berachah follow her, she'll get you started."

"Oh, _merci beau coup_," Marie said, giving me a nervous smile. "I did not do so well, though… did I?"

"Well enough," I said. "You got too eager, is all— and I can sympathize. So come on, girls."

I went and found Dad, said, "Reporting for advanced martial arts classes, Dad."

He worked us hard, but we all three loved it.

Colin came over and watched for the last half an hour, then, with Dad's permission, he sparred me. I identified his art pretty quickly— Kenpo karate, a good, broad-based style— and he held his own better than I expected. Still, I had a clear win on points, but he didn't get mad, or even irked. He just nodded and hugged me when the class was over— and managed, through pantomime, to ask about a particular kick that I'd floored him with. I taught him the kick, then we sat down on the back porch swing behind my house, and I snuggled up to him.

"How was your session with Diane?" I asked.

He made a face that suggested strong displeasure.

"I know it has to be hard," I said. I stroked his cheek and said, "But it needs to happen. I want to hear your voice, Colin. I want to hear your voice, hear you say my name, hear you say you love me with words, not a touch."

He nodded slowly, and sighed in frustration.

"No, it's okay," I said. "I get it. I'm not saying I want to hear it _right this instant,_ or that I'm going to blame you if I don't hear in a month, or six months, or even a year.

"Colin, you're trying. You're trying in the face of a hurt that I can barely comprehend at all, because you have a power I can barely imagine having— and I know that the consequences of using that power have to be worse than those of the Slayer power, because it's so much bigger.

"But on the flip side… Colin, you can save more people than I can, do more good. Yes, you failed, and people died. But seconds later, less than two minutes later, if you're right about how much time passed between whatever happened on your world and you coming to mine… _you used that power again_. You used it, and you saved my life.

"Because of that, I think… well, you aren't going to like this, maybe, but it's what I think.

"Colin, because you used your power so soon after this big failure you think you had, because you used it without hesitation to save a complete stranger… I think that on a level maybe deeper than the one where you blame yourself, maybe just above that one… I think you know that this business of blaming yourself is a mistake.

"I think that if you really, really felt you'd failed that badly all the way to the very heart of… of _you,_ you'd have _cut yourself off from that power_— and I'd have died.

"So I think you'll get better. I think you'll get past this, and say what I very much want to hear— because I think you can learn consciously that whatever-it-was wasn't something you could have stopped."

For a long, long moment, Colin only stared at me. Then he gave me that tiny little smile that was the best he could manage, nodded a little and gave an elaborate shrug at the same time. I understood— he was saying, "I guess you might be right, but I can't see it right now."

"No rush, love," I said, and laid my head on his shoulder. "No rush at all."

We sat there for twenty minutes or so, then I heard someone coming and opened my eyes just as Diane sat down opposite us.

"Hello, Jocelyn, hello, Colin," Diane said. "You two look obscenely comfortable.

"Colin… may I tell Jocelyn what we talked about today? I want her to know, because we haven't gotten to anything… deep, yet, and I think she may be able to help reinforce some of the things we talked about."

Colin sat up, stared at her for a long moment, very hard, a little frown on his face. Then he pointed at me, at her, made talking noises with his hand, and raised his eyebrows.

"Yes, I want to talk to her about— what?" Diane looked confused as Colin shook his head and rolled his eyes.

Colin repeated his previous pantomime, then took my hand, put his finger on my watch, ran it counterclockwise around the face a few times. I got it, then.

"No, she hasn't talked to me about anything yet," I said.

"No, of course I haven't," Diane said. "I wouldn't, not without your permission— and when have I had the chance, anyway? Why do you ask?"

Colin blinked, thought about it for a moment, then nodded slowly and gave us both a rueful look and that tiny smile. Then he pointed at me, opened an invisible book, ran his fingers under imaginary lines of text, turned pages, did it again. Then he pointed at Diane and tapped his temple.

She got it first. "Jocelyn… read my mind? Is that what you're saying?"

Colin nodded vigorously, and Diane looked at me. "What did you say to him, Jocelyn? May I ask?"

"Of course you can ask, you're trying to help him," I scoffed. "I just said that he obviously knew on some level that whatever happened isn't really his fault, because…."

Diane listened to my reasoning with a slowly widening smile, and when I finished, she laughed— a big, hearty, happy thing.

"Sweetheart, when you get too old for Slaying, you see me for a recommendation for medical school," Diane said, grinning. "I could make you a psychiatrist in no time, and a psychologist in less time than that.

"Jocelyn, those are exactly the arguments I presented to Colin while he and I talked today."

"Really?" I asked.

"Really," Diane said, still chuckling. She stood, gave Colin a playfully hard look, and said, "There! See? It's not just me— and she's not even a trained psychologist!

"Think on that, buster!"

Colin stood and bowed deeply to her— then pulled me to my feet and kissed me, very gently but far more intensely.

Diane walked inside, still laughing, a long time before we broke our kiss.


	8. Friends for Life

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 8: Friends for Life

Over the next three days, not a lot happened. Friday, the rest of the year's crop of newbie Slayers got in (only six, which brought us up to that year's twenty-three), went through the same drill as the first seventeen, and threw themselves into the work of learning to be Slayers.

Mi Kyong stayed the night alone that night, or part of it. Royal wasn't in bed with me and Colin when we woke, or in my room when I checked. He'd woken up when Mi Kyong had come awake from a nightmare about three in the morning (he'd been awake and heard her cry out— sharp ears, pseudo dragons, which is funny since they have no _visible_ ears), and gone to finish out the night with her, knowing that would make me happy, since she was already a dear friend. Besides, he loved her himself. (Big hearts on pseudo dragons— they may love one person more than any other, but they can love a whole lot of people.)

She actually tried to apologize for needing company, but I didn't get a chance to step on that— Colin beat me to it. He reached out and covered her mouth, gently but firmly, before she'd gotten farther than "I'm sorry, I—"

Once she'd stopped talking, Colin shook his head at her, slowly but broadly, then shook a finger at her in a "shame on you" gesture. Then he pointed at himself, held his hands up as though gripping the bars of a prison cell, held up one hand with all four fingers and his thumb spread, pointed at the calendar on the kitchen wall— then twirled the index finger of his right hand near his temple while flapping his pursed lips up and down with the index finger of his left hand.

Mi Kyong laughed hard for a second (as did everyone who saw this little pantomime)— and Mom said, "Whitey, in case you missed that, he said that if he'd been in that prison camp for five years, he'd be crazy as a one-legged man in a butt-kickin' fight."

"I got the crazy part," Dad said with a chuckle.

"He's right," I said, still giggling. "Mi Kyong, no need to apologize for needing company. Ever!"

"I… all right," she said with a sigh. "Thank you."

Saturday went quietly and well— nothing big happened, just lots of little things. I spent some time getting to know the new girls, some time with Colin, some with Mi Kyong, some with my family… good day, overall.

Xander, Buffy and their kids were scheduled to go back to New York Monday morning on a chartered plane— only one airline thus far treated pseudo dragons as passengers, not pets, and they didn't have any openings for their NYC flights that day, so they chartered a plane, not being willing to submit their friends to cages and cargo compartments. (And if they'd been willing, their kids wouldn't have!)

So it was nice that, when we went over to breakfast at Scooby Mansion Sunday morning, we found Linnea waiting in the kitchen to take us all in small groups to see Lightning's babies, who had hatched around three in the morning.

I went with Colin and Mi Kyong, and watching their faces as they stared in delight at the tiny little dragons tumbling and tottering around in the hoop made by their mother's curled up body was a treat. One was pale lavender, one the color of polished brass, one a faintly silver-sheened gray, and the last a gorgeous shade of deep purple-blue. Once Lightning sent us permission, we stroked the tiny little things, and I didn't miss the way the gray one seemed to not want Mi Kyong to leave, and the purple-blue one seemed to love being stroked by Colin more than either of us girls. I hoped that meant what it often did— about half the time, baby pseudo dragons attached themselves to someone on first meeting them, but only half the time.

When we left, Colin had that little smile on his face that was, for him, a broad grin, and Mi Kyong looked utterly exalted. Not like I blamed either of them….

Buffy took one look at them, grinned and said, "Pseudo dragon fever, huh?" She reached up to stroke her own scaly companion, a deep, shiny-brown girl named Pointy (don't ask me why, but it probably came from Buffy's head— pseudo dragons here on Earth tend to name themselves for things or from things that they get from their preferred humans). "Don't worry, I understand. When we came home and found some six hundred of these guys in the mansion after the Battle of Bloomington, pseudo dragon fever was a household epidemic. And when I woke up the next morning to find Pointy, here, sleeping on my pillow? Yeah, that was a hell of a treat. Then Xander started talking to Solder—" Xander reached up and fed his silver pseudo dragon friend some bacon as Buffy spoke. "— and things just went pretty much straight from 'this is neat' to 'I think I'm addicted to pseudo dragons.' Nice feeling!"

"I think… I think the little gray one liked me," Mi Kyong said. "I hope…."

"We all hope," Kelly said. "But if not from this batch, sweetheart, then later. We have no bad eggs in this crop of new Slayers, or so Titania and Bookmark assure us— if the pseudo dragons as a bunch seem not to like a girl, we get worried, as that's usually a sign of a girl with emotional problems, at least— so I expect there will be some very happy girls, over the summer, as more of the lady dragons lay and hatch. Of them all, only Tamara— the Australian girl? Aborigine, gorgeous smile? Only she already has a dragon-friend. Gorgeous thing, orange-pink, named Walkabout. He attached himself to her last summer, it seems."

We had breakfast, then spent the day goofing off. Dad came to me after the morning meal, while Colin was in the bathroom, and handed me the three trade-paperback books that collected Colin's adventures as Starpulse, and I looked at them for a long moment, thinking.

"Dad," I said slowly, "is there anything in here that I really _need_ to know?"

"Well… no, I don't think so," Dad said, looking puzzled.

"Okay, then never mind," I said. I handed them back to him, and in reply to his curious look, I said, "Daddy… I want to know who he is. Not who he was. I know enough about that already, from the things Aunt Dawn told us that first night.

"Who he was may affect who he is… but I don't need to know the 'was' to appreciate the 'is.' So… no, thank you."

Dad took them back, looking at me with searching eyes… and slowly, he started to smile. It grew to a big, proud grin, and he said, "Sweetheart… your mother and I do half so well with your siblings as we've done with you, and we're gonna get awards for parenting.

"And may I add… you, young lady, have it _bad!"_

"I know I do," I said, hugging him. "But I don't mind at all."

"That's how it should be, then," Dad said. "What are we having for dinner, honey?"

I grinned and said, "Well, I haven't decided totally yet. I have it down to bologna sandwiches or chicken parmesan."

"Impress your boyfriend," Daddy said. "Go with the chicken."

"Okay," I said, and he laughed, tickled my sides, and went off to his wood shop, where he was making training stakes for the newbies.

After dinner— which went over really well, but I can't take the credit, Mom, Dad, Kelly and Xander all helped teach me to cook— Colin and I went to the basement with Mi Kyong and my siblings and Buffy and Xander's twins to watch a movie while Mom, Dad, Gwen, Buffy and Xander played poker. We watched a couple of science fiction movies, the original Star Wars (Mi Kyong had never seen it, poor girl!) and the latest super-epic from Jack Calloway, who'd been making hugely successful movies since I was five or so. After that, my sister Belinda leaned forward to look at me and said, "Jocelyn? Dance the Heavens Home?"

I grinned and nodded. Mi Kyong, from the look on her face, didn't know what that was, and Colin probably couldn't know, since he hadn't been here but for a week or so.

Dance the Heavens Home is the name my Aunt Elaine put on the dance video she made from her performance of the first-ever zero gravity dance, a thing she'd done from the inspiration of her favorite-ever novel, Stardance. She's scary-shocking rich from the video sales, and she toyed with the idea of opening a dance studio in space, like the characters in the novel had, but wrote it off as impossible, even given her wealth. Still, once a year she and her whole family would go into space for a month, stay at the Asimov Hilton, and she'd dance in zero gee, play around, look for something that would be worthy of taping in the aftermath of Dance the Heavens Home. She hadn't found anything yet, but I didn't care— I could watch that video daily, and not get tired of it.

Belinda put it in, let everyone get settled, hit play— and the first thing we saw, before the titles even, were the words "For Spider and Jeanne Robinson, who wrote Stardance, the book that taught me to dream… and gave me the specific dream that became this performance." Aunt Elaine has class, and she insisted that those words be the first thing on the video.

We all watched, though Belle and I did look away from the screen occasionally to look at Colin and Mi Kyong's faces.

Both of them wept over the sheer, unbridled beauty of Aunt Elaine doing dance moves that would have been completely impossible in any environment with more than micro-gravity, dancing in her thirty million dollar spacesuit, clear and thin and much more form-fitting than "normal" spacesuits (paid for by Uncle Ballard, who was obscenely rich because his billionaire-asshole father died without changing his will), dancing against a backdrop of naked space… it hurt. But that hurt, it was a really good hurt, the kind that makes you stronger and more aware of everything good in your life, because that hurt is what makes us _try_.

Okay, I'm just— I'm not going to try to describe it. I can't— _Aunt Rose_ can't, and she's a professional writer. If you haven't seen it, run— do not walk, _RUN!_— to the nearest video rental place and rent it. If you can tell me in the presence of a pseudo dragon that you regret the expense, I'll refund your money. Personally.

When the video finished, I had a pair of happy-awed-weeping people clinging to me, one on either side, and I didn't mind at all.

"Again?" Mi Kyong said softly after a couple of minutes. "Again, please?"

Belinda started it over, and no one got up and left, not even my brother Stephen, who's only twelve, and sometimes gets a little over-macho.

"Tomorrow morning," Mi Kyong said after the second run-through, "I am going to make a fool of myself. I will probably weep while I hug your Aunt Elaine, Jocelyn."

Colin raised his hand at that, tapped his own chest and nodded vehemently.

"Kids?" Mom called down. "It's gettin' late, y'all should think about goin' to bed."

"Coming, Mom," Belle called back. "Be up in a minute."

We put the video away, grabbed the bowls that had held popcorn and our glasses and trooped upstairs. Mom was in the kitchen putting the glasses from the poker game in the dishwasher. When she saw the number of red eyes and noses from the weeping we'd all done, she smiled and said, "Haven't watched that lately— thanks for reminding me."

"You know?" Mi Kyong said. "How…?"

"Ain't much in this world can affect as many people as the Dance," Mom said, her voice putting the capital in there. "So when you all look sniffly and happy-stunned? Yeah, y'all watched Dance the Heavens Home."

"It was… I lack the words," Mi Kyong said. "I wish I didn't, I wish I could say to Elaine how she made me feel."

"Don't feel bad, sugar," Mom said. "None of us has ever managed it. Just hug her— that'll tell her."

"I very much will," Mi Kyong said. "At breakfast."

Again, Colin raised his hand, tapped his chest and nodded like a bobble-head doll.

We went upstairs, all of us, after telling Mom and Dad goodnight, and hugging them. Colin and I stopped on the second floor landing so that I could hug my sisters, and I got a pleasant surprise when Stephen hugged me, too (he's twelve, and not so big on the hugging anymore— I chalked it up to the Dance). Mi Kyong stayed after the kids had gone, and looked at me with a tiny blush showing in her cheeks.

"I think that tonight… tonight, I will not have bad dreams," she said. "It will be a relief— and one more thing that I will owe Elaine."

"Good," I said immediately. "She'd approve, I know. And you know that if you do— well, Royal will come stay with you. Neither of us minds that, so close your mouth, Mi Kyong."

She did, blushing a little— then hugged me very hard, and Royal wrapped his wings around both our heads.

"Aww, that's cuter'n a speckled puppy in a little red wagon," Mom said. Royal retracted his wings, and we looked down to see Mom grinning up at us. She shook her head a little in amusement and added, "Mi Kyong, I know my girl and her dragon— I had to play interpreter for him until Jocelyn could talk, after all— and I'm here to tell you that they both mean it. So don't get to feelin' guilty if you need company and Royal comes."

"See?" I said. "Ratification from the highest authority in the house."

"Thank you, Chantelle," Mi Kyong said, and Mom smiled and waved to her.

Mom went on to the front door to set the security system (vampires can't enter a home uninvited, but other demons and monsters don't have that problem) as Mi Kyong said, "Your family… I am so glad that they are becoming my family that I cannot tell you— the words keep failing me."

"Are you kidding me?" I asked. "I'm getting an extra sister out of the deal, Mi Kyong, so don't imagine that I'm not just as glad."

Mi Kyong smiled brightly at that, hugged me, hugged Colin, and went off to bed, as we did.

Monday morning, Uncle Ballard and his family and Giles, Kelly and Riley came over to our house for breakfast, and Linnea brought Lightning and her babies with, the babies in a box that she carried with great care. They tumbled around on the dining room table all through breakfast, begging bites of sausage, ham, bacon and eggs, wrestling with each other and providing better entertainment than any TV show ever could. But before that… as soon as Aunt Elaine walked in the door, Mi Kyong went to her, hugged her very, very tightly, and said softly, "Thank you. Watching your Dance… it made me forget much of my remaining fright, and I slept through the night with no nightmares at all. Thank you!"

Aunt Elaine lit up like a kid on Christmas morning, and she gave Mi Kyong one of those super-hugs that you know comes from all the way inside. "You're more than welcome, sweetheart. That's what dance in general is for— and that dance in specific."

"The book that inspired you," Mi Kyong said. "May I read it? After I finish Chosen to Stand?"

"Betcha," Aunt Elaine said. "I have a few dozen copies to hand out, I'll give you one after martial arts class today."

Mi Kyong thanked her again, stepped back— and Colin stepped forward and hugged her just as long and intensely as Mi Kyong had. Then, unable to articulate his thanks even as well as she had, he took her hand, bowed over it, brushed her knuckles with his lips before straightening.

"You're still a hit, Elaine," Aunt Rose said as Aunt Elaine blushed, but stepped forward and hugged Colin again. "Which, okay, that's just like it should be."

After breakfast and a whole bunch of hugs, Dad drove Buffy, Xander, Alex and Joyce to the airport in Bloomington and saw them and their pseudo dragons off. He said that the plane's pilot and stewardess, both standing in the door to greet their passengers, each had a dragon of their own on their shoulders, so we knew that they were in good hands for the flight home.

Monday night, sometime around two-thirty (okay, technically Tuesday morning), I woke to find Royal slipping out of Colin's room, and he told me that Mi Kyong needed him. I thanked him for going, he told not to be silly, he loved her as much as I did, and I went back to sleep.

Thursday morning, when Linnea came into the dining room at Scooby Mansion for breakfast, she walked in a miniature cloud of baby pseudo dragons— all four were flying around her head, and we laughed in delight at the sight.

After we'd finished eating, the brass-colored one flew over to Diane Hodges, landed on the counselor's shoulder, and nudged her cheek with his head. She turned to pet him, kissed his head lightly— then went wide-eyed with shocked delight.

"My god!" she gasped. "Oh, my god!

"He says… he says his name is Endorphin, and that he wants to stay with me!"

We whooped and applauded— and in that noise, we missed Mi Kyong's gasp of joy. When we all calmed down a little, she sent us right back into the land of clapping and cheering by holding the little gray girl on her hand and saying, "Please allow me to introduce you all to Fog— she would like to stay with me."

The other two babies didn't commit to anyone that day, but I did notice that the purple-blue one didn't leave Colin's shoulder very often or for very long at all that day, not while we were over there.

Fog slept in Mi Kyong's bedroom that night, and Mi Kyong didn't have any need of Royal's company.

At breakfast in our dining room the next morning, Friday, the deep, purple-blue baby pseudo dragon went straight to Colin and sat on top of his head, perched comfortably. After the meal, she flapped down to Colin's shoulder, head-bumped Colin's cheek— and I saw Colin's eyes go wide with delight and amazement. He put his hand up and the dragon walked onto it, sat staring into Colin's eyes for a moment, then turned and looked at Linnea, who sat up straight very suddenly.

"Oh, wow," Linnea said. "Okay.

"Um, since Colin can't talk yet, the young lady on his hand would like me to tell you all that her name is Nightfall, and that she's going to be his friend and stay with him, now."

Cheering ensued.

At the morning martial arts classes, the lavender baby committed himself. I'd been working with Dad, Berachah and Marie, and the lavender baby had been watching. When we took a break at the halfway point, he flew over, landed on Berachah's shoulder and nuzzled her cheek. A second later she "meeped" (as Aunt Rose would say) and turned to look him in the eyes.

"His… his name is Sling," Berachah said in a tiny voice. "He says we're going to be friends forever!"

Dad let us have a slightly longer break than usual for the sake of cuteness, as Berachah sat with Sling in her hand and cooed at him for several minutes.

_**88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888**_

_Interlude: New York City, Friday afternoon._

Alex Harris almost didn't go to his friend David Tower's birthday party when he found out that they were going to start with lunch at Future Perfect Pizza in Manhattan. Future Perfect didn't allow pseudo dragons inside, and he hated to go anywhere without Chief, his fire-engine-red, scaly best friend. But David was Alex's best human friend— so he went. The theater and the mini-golf place they'd be going to after lunch were both dragon-friendly, so Chief would only have to wait outside while they were in the restaurant.

Mr. and Mrs. Tower didn't mind Alex bringing Chief along at all, and David just loved him. In fact, that went both ways— Chief approved of David completely. When Leia, Joyce's pseudo dragon, got around to having babies this year, Alex planned to have David over for the weekend, see if he could get his friend bonded with a dragon. All the family dragons said that there was a good chance of that, so… he had hopes.

When they got to Future Perfect Pizza, Chief looked around, pointed at a nice, high ledge on a building across the street, accepted a hug, and flew off to wait for Alex.

Lunch was great, they had a room to themselves, and the waiters and waitresses in their science-fiction movie costumes— some old, some new— were very fun, staying "in character" the whole time they were on the floor. He recognized the X-wing pilot's coverall, and the guy from the Terran Hegemony Security forces— rated R and all, he and Joyce got to see the movie it was from, since it was based on one of Aunt Rose's books— but didn't know what the guy in the black and blue coverall was supposed to be….

They all came out about two, David having opened his presents there at the restaurant, and headed for the Towers' van and big sedan. Alex looked around, saw Chief standing and stretching up on the tenth-floor window ledge where he'd made his perch, and whistled a rough approximation of his friend's name in the pseudo dragon's language— as close as a human could come anyway.

"Hey, Alex!" said a voice from behind him. "Alex Harris!"

Alex turned to see a guy standing behind him, a guy he'd never seen before, but who looked… sort of familiar.

"Yes, sir?" Alex said.

"Just making sure," the man said— and his hand dipped under the loose T-shirt he wore, came out and pointed at Alex's head, moving too fast to be seen as more than a blur.

Alex had time to see the gun pointing right at his face, to feel a moment of terror— then the gun's muzzle flashed— and Alex Harris died.

People screamed all over the street— but louder than all of those screams was the high, almost-human shriek of the fire-engine-red pseudo dragon that flung itself down at the shooter, wings beating furiously, tears streaming from its eyes.

Again, the shooter's hand blurred— and a second gunshot went off. Chief hit the pavement next to his lifelong friend, dying, with only a second or two of life left— and even as he pressed his face to the already-cooling hand of Alex Harris, he did what he could to insure that his friend's killer would pay.

With the last of his fury and pain, he forced the last of his life into a sending, sent his litter-sister Leia an image of the man who'd killed Alex and himself.

Then, having done all he could, he followed his best friend into the afterlife, where they would play together… forever.

_**88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888**_

_Jocelyn:_

That Friday afternoon, we ate lunch outside, burgers on the grill, and were all sitting around talking still— Aunt Dawn was telling the newbies about the night she first saw Buffy kill a vampire— when Giles's cell phone went off. He glanced at it, flipped it open and said, "Hello, Buffy."

For a moment, he stared at nothing, his face going through multiple expressions— shock, disbelief, rage… and then his features settled into an expression of horrible sadness and pain, and for the first time since I could remember, he looked his fifty-nine years, even older.

"Oh, god, no." His voice broke, Giles let out a single, harsh sob— and everyone went silent. Kelly grabbed his free hand— and she winced when, all unknowing, he squeezed her hand back hard enough to hurt. When he spoke again, his voice was watery, but he wasn't sobbing… quite. "Is Xander there with you, Buffy? And… yes, all right. Yes, of course. We'll be there directly. No, Buffy, all of us. I don't think… we can't leave the newly activated here, Buffy, not now. Yes.

"Buffy… oh, Buffy, I am so sorry."

Giles sat silently for a moment after closing his phone, then said, "There is no right way to say this, no easy way— so I am simply going to say it, and ask that you… understand that if there is a better way, I cannot think of it at the moment.

"Alex Harris has been murdered in New York City, and his companion Chief with him."

I burst into tears of shock and hurt, and I was a long way from the only one to do so.

Murdered. My brain went back to that word, locked on it, held on to it— it was a reason to feel something besides hurt. Apparently, I wasn't the only one to think that way.

"Murdered," Dad said, his voice a thing of ice and razor-edges. "Not killed, but murdered."

"Shot," Giles said. "In front of a dozen other boys. He… a man approached him as he was coming out of a pizza parlor with some friends and one boy's parents and shot him, then shot Chief when Chief tried to attack the man. That's all I know, right now."

"All right," Dad said. "Giles, Kelly, you go help take care of Dawn—" Aunt Dawn was in the middle of a big group hug from her family, all their kids, shocked and hurt more than many by the murder of their friend, someone our age, trying to climb in her lap. "— and start packing. I'll make the travel arrangements."

Dad stood up and went inside, and I turned to bury my face in Colin's chest, Royal in my arms and Mi Kyong stroking my back as I lost the battle to keep my anger at the forefront of my mind, and all the hurt and sadness washed me away for a while.

We were all on a chartered plane for New York in less than four hours.


	9. Declaration of War

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 9: Declaration of War

Xander and Buffy had a really, really nice house in the Clinton Hill section of Brooklyn, and the core group went there straightaway— Giles, Kelly, Riley, Uncle Ballard and his whole family, and Willow, Lydia and Elise.

Some of the rest of us— my family, and others to join later— went to the guest house a block or so away, and all the rest went to the Millennium United Nations Plaza Hotel— expensive as hell to put up all the newbies but Mi Kyong and Autumn there, as well as Vincent, Vi and their kids, and— well, a lot of people. But Giles was feeling very security conscious, and paid it without a qualm after Vincent said it was the most secure hotel in New York. Add in that they assured Vincent that they would let him take charge of security for the floors that Team Slayer took up— three, total— and Giles paid the astonishing bill without any hesitation at all. (Of course, the Watchers' Council is offensively rich, but still… that bill, for a week, was over half a million dollars!)

We got to the guest house at ten-forty-five Eastern Time, and I let myself be taken to bed. Mom and Dad, they saw how badly this was messing with me— Alex was my friend, dammit, and his death was probably a thing aimed at Buffy, and probably because she was a _Slayer,_ and _I was a Slayer, too, making me a little to blame!_— and they pretty much came as close as they had in years to _ordering_ me to go to bed.

Colin — affected by this, but not so strongly as I was— took me to bed, cuddled me, and both pseudo dragons stayed close, Royal on my hip, the baby above my pillow.

I slept badly, but they helped— god, without them, I doubt that I'd have slept at all!

I woke about five in the morning to a still and silent house, and I wormed my way slowly and carefully out of bed without waking either my love or his pseudo dragon friend. Royal had felt my intent and flapped over to sit on the mantel of the fireplace while I did my bathroom routine and got dressed. I left a note for Colin on the nightstand— not leaving one under those circumstances would be past rude and inconsiderate and into the realm of _criminal_— and another on the door of the room for anyone who might come to check on me (Mom, Dad, Gwendolyn, Mi Kyong or my blood sibs) and went downstairs and out to the big (vast) front yard. Royal perched on a tree branch high enough to look down over the ten-foot-high brick wall that surrounded the mansion, and I found myself grateful for that little bit of paranoia.

I stretched, loosened up as well as I could make myself— some tension just doesn't go away in circumstances like those— and started doing katas and forms, martial arts practice exercises, starting with simple ones to loosen me up more, then moving on to more advanced and deadly exercises as I loosened up more.

After I'd run through all the forms and such that I usefully could (which took about an hour and fifteen minutes), I went on to shadowboxing, which is a lot more useful than most people would think. No longer the ritualized movements of martial arts practice exercises, I was _fighting_ now, imagining opponents for myself, vampire, demon and even Slayer opponents, throwing myself into the things I thought would work in a real fight, trying new combinations, even new blows.

I'd been at it for maybe ten minutes when a low, hurt voice said, "You're telegraphing all of your kicks aimed above the waist, Jocelyn."

I jumped, spun, landed in a super-defensive, pulled-in sort of stance— and let out an explosive sigh as I saw Buffy standing under the tree where Royal sat, Pointy on her shoulder, her face pale and with big, dark circles under her eyes.

"I am?" I said, letting this go her way, for now. I didn't want to push her. "Can you show me?"

"Sure," Buffy said. "Pointy, sentry duty with Royal, please?"

Pointy head-bumped Buffy's cheek, then flapped up and perched next to Royal, facing the other direction.

"This is what your high kicks look like," Buffy said, and demonstrated. I winced— she was right, you could see them coming. She shifted position a little, then did a series of high kicks interspersed with other, lower ones and lots of punches. "That's what they _should_ look like.

"You're letting your center move too much, Jocelyn— I've seen it before, it's from the Capoeira. You need that floating center, then— but you weren't doing any Capoeira, and you have to keep them separate enough to avoid the telegraphing. No more separate than that, no— all you've got in your arsenal, you need it, you should have it— but you can't let the habits of one art give you bad habits in another.

"Here, do what I do…."

In ten minutes, she'd fixed that bad habit for me. She was the oldest Slayer around, sure— but the power kept her healthy, her love of doing the job kept her active and constantly striving to be better… and she was better than me. She proved it by fixing a problem that might have given an enemy an edge over me, and fixing it in ten minutes or so.

"Good," Buffy said. "Watch yourself for a few days, then it should be ingrained— and that may keep you… keep you alive."

"Thanks," I said, trying not to start crying and failing miserably. "Buffy… I wish… I wish I could… I don't know what to _say!"_

"There's nothing to say," Buffy said, her voice breaking. "There's nothing… he killed my son! That _monster_ killed my son!"

Just like that the sobbing started, and Buffy started to sink to the ground, her hands coming up to cover her face. I caught her, went down with her, and we knelt there, clinging to each other and sobbing. In just a couple of seconds, Royal and Pointy landed on our shoulders and wrapped their wings around us, and we all four knelt there and wept.

I don't know how long it lasted, but I do know that I stopped first, and just held Buffy and rocked her for a minute or so while she got a little more of her hurt out of her system.

"Thank you, Jocelyn," Buffy said when she stopped sobbing. She didn't let go of me, so I made no move to let go of her. "Tear-storm number ninety-three in a series of thousands, I guess. I just keep— I think, 'hey, I'm okay. Maybe just for a minute, but for this minute, I'm okay.'

"Then it hits me again, and I'm… not okay."

"I'd be scared to death if you were okay," I said softly. "Because that would mean you were totally insane, and probably dangerous, and you can kick my ass."

"There's that," Buffy said— and gave me a small, watery smile.

"Buffy… not to sound all mother-hen or anything," I said, blushing at the idea of treating her like she was my age, but having to ask, "but do Xander and Joyce know where you are? Or somebody at your house, at least?"

"Xander, Giles, Willow and Dawn all know I was coming here," Buffy said. "Thank you for thinking about it— proves to me that you're thinking the right way, makes me worry less."

"Okay," I said, and sighed. "I was just… I know how I'd feel if Mom or Dad left and didn't tell me right now. I left a note for Mom and Dad, another for Colin, and I'm not even leaving the property."

"Probably a really good idea," Buffy said. She hesitated, then said, "Nobody awake yet, huh?"

"Somebody's up," I said. "Saw the curtains by the front door move while you were correcting the back round kick. Did you need to talk to anyone in specific?"

"Your Dad and Colin," Buffy said. I must have looked surprised, because she said, "Your Dad's a brilliant detective, honey, and Colin… Giles and Xander both think he can help. Xander read Colin's comics in their original run, again while we were at your house, and Giles read them then too. They both think Colin can help. Xander says that he isn't like most super-powered comic characters, because he has complimentary skills."

"Huh?" I said. "I don't get it…."

"According to Xander— and ratified by Ballard and Rose, which covers the three biggest comic-geeks in the family— most of the detective types in comics are 'skilled normals,' not 'powered hero' types," Buffy said. "You know— guys who don't have powers, just training and maybe gadgets. Batman, Green Arrow, the Question, Captain America, Moon Knight, like that.

"But all three say that in his comics at least, Colin showed himself to be a pretty good scientific detective, and a really good psychological and deductive detective. So… I'm hoping he can help. I know he'll try, but I hope… I hope he can."

"Then let's go ask him," I said.

"I don't want to wake him," Buffy said.

"I don't want glared at," I countered. "Buffy… he didn't have a chance to learn to love Alex, but he liked him, and he loves me and knows I loved him. If I _don't_ wake him, he'll be pissed."

Buffy looked at me with such naked gratitude that I almost wept again, and she did leak a few tears.

"God, I am so lucky to have the family I do," Buffy said, wiping at her cheeks. "I'd never make it through this without all of you."

I took her hand and we strolled up to the house, where the question became moot— Dad, Mom, Gwendolyn, Colin, Mi Kyong, my brother Stephen and a plethora of pseudo dragons were all awake and in the kitchen.

I led Buffy in— and Mom was _right there,_ reaching for Buffy, pulling her into a super-hug, both of them crying already, and I went and hugged and clung to Colin and Mi Kyong while Daddy and Gwendolyn hugged Stephen, and pretty much everybody cried.

Once we'd all calmed down enough to talk, Buffy said, "Listen… right after breakfast, can I borrow Whitey and Colin for a bit? We're going to try and figure out… something about who… who did this, and Giles and Xander both want both of you guys there."

"Of course I'll come," Daddy said. "Colin?"

Colin looked a little surprised, but he nodded emphatically.

"Don't look surprised, Colin," Buffy sniffled. "Xander, Ballard and Rose all say you're a damned good detective, and Giles agrees. So… thank you."

Colin just nodded.

"However," Daddy said, "I think you all forgot someone."

"Giles called the hotel, and Vincent and Diane are both coming as soon as they can get there," Buffy said.

"That's good, but I wasn't thinking of either of them," Daddy said. "We should bring Jocelyn— if you think you can handle it, honey-girl?"

I blinked, stared, then stammered, "Well, yeah, but— but what could I bring— I mean, I'm no detective, and Giles and Ballard and Kelly, they're really good at following Colin's pantomimes."

"Allow me to demonstrate," Daddy said. "Jocelyn… in Buffy's second year in Sunnydale, what did she face right before she had to deal with Angelus for the final time?"

"Sea monsters," I said automatically. "The swim coach was using weirdo hyper-steroids on the swim team, and it was turning them into monsters one by one."

"What did she deal with the first time she had a significant threat after the Sunnydale Christmas Snowstorm of nineteen ninety-nine?" Daddy said, not slowing down at all.

"The fairy-tale demon," I said. "Pretended to be two little kids who were murdered, made everyone in Sunnydale freak out over the supernatural, try to kill everyone they thought had any connection to the supernatural."

"Any further significance?" Dad asked.

"That was when Amy Madison turned herself into a rat to escape being burned at the stake," I said. "She spent the next three years as a rat— probably didn't do her psychoses any good."

"First big threat Team Slayer faced after the Battle of Bloomington?" Dad asked.

"The vampire Diego Alhambra," I said. "Discovered a bunch of military cybernetic implants that had been abandoned as impractical because human bodies rejected them. Used them to jack himself and about three dozen other vamps up to super-vamp range, since vampire tissues don't reject implants (being dead), tried really hard to take over Mexico City."

"Who was Billy Blim?" Daddy asked.

"Part demon, his touch made men violently misogynistic," I replied. "Lilah Morgan of Wolfram and Hart shot him after Cordelia Chase… well, gave her hell for letting him make some guy beat her half to death."

"I think I see," Buffy said. "If this is something we've faced before… Jocelyn may spot it."

"Yes," Daddy said, giving me a proud smile. "She's asked more questions and remembered more stories than even Rose, I think— I know she knows more about the things we've all faced than I do."

"Jocelyn… will you?" Buffy asked.

"Of course!" I said. "I just… I hope you— I'm probably going to… to cry a lot."

"I know, honey," Dad said. He looked at Mom, and said, "Chantelle, if it weren't so urgent, I wouldn't ask her to do this."

"But it _is_ that urgent," Mom said, looking a weird mix of sad and scared and proud. "An' I reckon if you didn't ask, I'd have to kick your ass for you, Whitelaw.

"Jocelyn… sweetie, you do your best, but don't you go tryin' to go on when it hurts too much. You take a break if you need it an' if you can do the job without… without havin' to look at any pictures they may have, I'd rather you did. 'Kay, sweetie?"

"Yes, ma'am," I said. I shivered. "I don't want to see pictures, not if… if I don't have to."

"There's nothing a person not trained as a detective could learn from pictures, honey-girl," Daddy said gently. "No pictures, okay? I want you to just listen, and watch Colin, and see if anything trips your brain into gear."

"Let me add," Buffy said, her voice shaky, but still sort of… well, firm, which shouldn't be possible, but it was, "that you don't discount anyone or anything because the story ends with 'and then he-she-we-they killed him-her-it-them,' Jocelyn. I've died twice, now, and I'm still here. No rule says the bad guys can't do the same."

"Okay," I said. "Okay, Buffy. I'll remember."

My sisters came down then, and they both hugged and held onto Buffy for a minute before she left to at least attempt to eat something herself, at home with her family.

After breakfast, Daddy, Colin and I walked down the street to Xander and Buffy's mansion, me between the two most important men in my life, holding each of them by the hand, and feeling a little odd.

On the one side, Colin Goddard, the man I loved, lusted after, and had taken as my first male lover, the man who made me feel like a woman, not a girl. On the other, Whitelaw Penobscot, my Daddy— not Dad, not right then, when I was hurt and scared over what had been done to Alex, but _Daddy_— who had made me his little girl by loving me totally without reserve, when a lot of men would have resented me because I was the biological child of someone else. Then add in Royal around my neck, accepting me and loving me without any questions about which me was the more accurate, and the oddness only increased.

Right side woman, left side little girl, middle just Jocelyn… it was a really odd feeling, but not at all unpleasant.

Phantom sat on Daddy's shoulder, her sharp eyes scanning around, even as Royal's did from his lifted head, and Nightfall, young and tiny, flew a slow circle several feet above our heads, watching for threats the older pseudo dragons might not see from their lower perches.

We got to Buffy and Xander's house with no trouble, and Xander met us at the door. I hugged him on sight, wept more, as did he, then we went in and went to their library to talk. Vincent and Diane had already arrived, were reading through copies of the police transcripts at the big conference table there, Vincent looking sad and sick, Diane frowning and looking worried. Uncle Ballard and my four aunts all sat there already, Aunt Rose looking murderously angry, Elaine and Sh'rin subdued and worried, Aunt Dawn shocked and hurt. Willow sat next to Lydia, and Buffy sat right down between her long-time best friend and her husband. Kelly sat next to Xander, took the hand Buffy wasn't holding when he sat down. Giles, on Kelly's other side, got up and came over to us.

Giles hugged me, exchanged unusually long two-handed shakes with Daddy and Colin, then sat down.

"All right," Giles said. "I appreciate everyone coming— and Buffy filled us in on why Jocelyn has come.

"Jocelyn… thank you. Thank you for subjecting yourself to what is very certain to be a frightening and painful meeting, young lady— and for stepping up to the responsibilities that the situation thrusts upon you so readily."

I nodded a little, but didn't speak— I was on the edge of crying already, and didn't want to start.

"All right," Giles said. "Given the cooperation that the Team Slayer has always offered to the City of New York, the way we have answered their calls for assistance consistently for the last dozen years, the mayor has ordered the police commissioner to cooperate with us fully, and the commissioner has been very good about complying with those orders. I have here a summary of events, taken from witness statements and police investigations. I… Diane, you have far more detachment than I do at the moment— than any of us, really— could you…?"

"Of course, Rupert," Diane said. she took the summary, read it to us, and I sat with my eyes closed, listening. Something tickled my brain, but I held off on saying anything until I'd heard everyone out— I knew there had to be more to come.

"All right," Giles said, his voice shaking. "Those are the facts as they have been ascertained from statements. I… Chief, he sent… as a last effort to help, he sent an image of the man who did this to Joyce's friend Leia. Willow has managed to capture the image holographically for us. I have it here."

Giles lifted a three-foot high, one-foot-wide-and-thick plastic box up onto the table, pressed his hand flat on the top of it— and I saw the man who'd killed Buffy and Xander's son, my friend Alex.

A little over six feet tall, muscular in a rangy sort of way— good tone, not great, no real bulk— auburn hair swept back from a high forehead, just wavy enough to deserve the word. Ice-blue eyes set around a straight, even nose, that above a mouth that showed a vicious sort of grin. All of this set in a handsome face, angular and almost pretty. The killer wore loose, comfortable pleated jeans, a T-shirt advertising the recently-popular rock group Whitefire and white sneakers. All and all, he looked like a movie star, a specific one, I mean.

"My god, he looks like a prettier Jared Leto," Aunt Dawn said, and I knew that she was right. "That's… wrong. The shithead should be ugly, hideous!"

For once, Kelly Giles said nothing about someone's foul language.

"Yes, it would be far more appropriate," Giles said. "Now… since arriving, Willow and I have been to the scene and examined it in our own ways. Unfortunately, we found nothing. Nothing at all. Willow was able to… to replay the event with a retrocognition spell, and we… we were able to—to watch it, but… we learned very little. She captured it, as she has this image, in a larger container, and if Vincent, Whitey and Colin can… make themselves look at it, perhaps they can learn more."

"We didn't learn much, like Giles said," Willow said, taking over mostly to give Giles a chance to pull himself together. "I did several spells, trying to learn something— but I learned just negatives, mostly.

"One thing— whoever it was isn't human. He moved faster than any human could have, as fast as most Slayers, I think.

"Past that… just negatives, like I said. I can tell you what he's _not_.

"It wasn't human, it wasn't a demon, it wasn't even alive. And it wasn't undead. It wasn't magical at all, either."

"That doesn't leave a lot of options, Wil," Xander said, speaking for the first time. He sounded… old. His voice was scratchy and creaky, like he had a sore throat, or had been shouting. "In fact, I don't see any past an alien."

"I'm not about to rule that out," Willow said. "Xander… Colin. Knowing that he exists opens up whole new doors. I'm working on it, I am! But I'm having to try to think of ways to detect things I know nothing about, so it's taking time, I'm sorry!"

"Hey, no, Wil," Xander said, reaching past Buffy to squeeze her hand. "Not mad at you, Willow just… mad at everything. Not your fault, I know, I know how far you'd have gone to stop it. So stop being sorry— you're _helping,_ you aren't allowed to be sorry for that."

"Okay," Wil said, sounding tired and angry and resigned. "I just… I hate not being able to help!"

"Believe me, you're helping," Buffy said. "You being here for me and Xander to grab onto? Helping _lots_." She looked down the table at Vincent. "Vincent, have you got anything?"

"Nothing good," Vincent said, his face set in a scowl. "Buffy… the assassin knew where Alex would be, and when. Witnesses say he was only in the vicinity for a couple of minutes before the boys all came out.

"It occurs to me that you might want to have Brian Keller in, have him go over your computers and phones, make sure nothing is being tapped or hacked. The assassin had foreknowledge, that means these things must be checked… though I realize it could be done magically."

"I'll call Brian now," Giles said, standing and stepping back from the table. "Please, continue, I can listen while I call him."

"I have nothing else to add yet," Vincent said. "Except that this… it feels like revenge. Tactically, the risks were not high, but to do this in a public place insures some risk— enough that I feel revenge is the motive."

"Diane?" Buffy said, looking at the counselor. "I know forensic psychology isn't your thing, but… anything?"

"Vincent's right, this is revenge," Diane said. "Pure revenge, Buffy— I'm sorry to put it so… baldly, but this… this is someone taking revenge for a perceived wrong. The planning that went into it points that way— but what the killer said…." She flipped pages in the report she held, then read, " 'Hey, Alex. Alex Harris.' Alex replied— and the killer said, 'just making sure,' before he… did it."

"Yes," Daddy said. "You're right, Diane. This is… something old, come back to haunt us. I hate to think of it, but—"

The door to the library burst open, making everyone jump, and damned near everyone landed on their feet in martial arts stances— but it was only Mom and the older of my two sisters, Belinda. Mom looked freaked, and Belinda was crying and she grabbed Daddy and started wailing, the words she was trying to say lost in her sobs.

"Belinda, what's wrong?" Daddy asked as gently as he could. She tried to answer, couldn't, and he looked at Mom.

"I don't know, Whitey," Mom said. "We were making sure that the rooms for the others were aired out, and she stopped in the middle of opening a window in one of the guestrooms, and stared at her reflection for a second— then screamed, shouted 'no,' and ran out, headed this way."

Belinda's pseudo dragon friend, Midnight, a blue so dark it was almost black, came flapping in, and sent to all of us, _*I think she saw something— something coming, that hasn't happened yet— but she's so scared that I can't see it._*

"Belinda," Daddy said, kneeling in front of my little sis and taking her hands. "Sweetie, did you see something that's going to happen?"

She nodded frantically, tried hard to stop crying, almost managed it. "Don't let Andrew get on that plane, Daddy! Not at all, not even! He can't, or him and all the girls with him will die!"

"Kelly, call him, move fast, he should be at the airport already," Giles said, being still on the phone with Brian Keller.

"Brian, too!" Belle said. "Giles, tell him— tell him that there will be a bomb on his plane, the man put a bomb on it!"

"Brian, change flights— no, don't, but tell the airport police to go over that plane from stem to stern looking for sabotage or a bomb." Giles sighed, shook his head. "Dammit— Brian, you be bloody careful!"

"Belinda," Daddy said softly. "Did you see anything else, honey? Is anyone else in danger?"

"Yes, daddy, Nancy!" Belle said, referring to Nancy O'Brien-Carter, who had been a dorm mother to the girls of the Giles academy for years, and had left on vacation with her husband right after school ended, the day this all started. "There's a bomb on her plane, too— but that's not the worst!

"Daddy, the man couldn't get to Angel and Faith's plane in time to bomb it, but there's a— a rocket thing, in the mountains, and it's set to go off and shoot their plane down and Daddy, THEIR PLANE IS ALMOST TO IT! THERE'S NO TIME!"

"Oh, shit!" Daddy said, and straightened. "Giles, who should we call to get them to divert—"

Then Colin was there, pointing at Belle, then at Willow. He made a "cast a spell" gesture, pointed two fingers at Belle's eyes, and then his own.

Willow got it. She said, "Belle, think about what you saw, the rocket and where it was— show me, honey, I'm coming in to look!"

Belle, sobbing wildly, closed her eyes, fought to slow her breathing— and Willow cast a spell, muttering words in a language I didn't recognize, her hands moving in graceful patterns while she spoke.

Suddenly, the space in front of Belle lit up with a scene of a rock shelf on a mountainside, a shelf maybe twelve feet wide and eight deep. On the shelf sat a tripod-mounted and fairly small rocket, a neat, matte-gray streamlined thing about four feet long and maybe seven inches thick at its widest point.

Colin pointed at the image, at Willow, and made a "back up" motion. Willow spoke again, and the image changed as the "camera eye" of the spell pulled back at a quick, steady pace. When it had gone back far enough to show the mountain skyline, Colin held up a hand, and Willow froze the view.

Colin's eyes moved over the image, fixing on several points of it, visibly trying to take mental photos of those points— then he nodded, kissed my forehead, moved to the window on the south wall, flung it open, ran up the screen— and flew out, glowing the white-gold color of his power.

Only a second later, we heard the sharp crack of a sonic boom from somewhere above, as Colin accelerated away to try and save two people that he'd never even met— just because they mattered to us.

_Interlude:_

When you can fly at hypersonic speeds (anything exceeding five times the speed of sound), you learn three things very quickly: You learn to recognize geographic features from the air, so that you can navigate, and when you slow or stop, you have some idea of where you are. You learn what the place you call home looks like from nearly any altitude. And you learn about air traffic patterns and flight corridors, so that you don't accidentally kill people in aircraft, especially when you're naturally radar invisible.

Colin Goddard had made it his business to learn the air traffic patterns and flight corridors of his "home" earth, and from what he'd seen, those of this earth were identical. He'd studied them as best he could while flying Jocelyn up to look down on the Earth, and later studied those around Seoul and Pyongyang while rescuing Mi Kyong— and if there were any differences, he couldn't see them.

That gave him a chance to save Angel and Faith, people whom his new family loved, good people, if Rose Killian had told the truth in Chosen to Stand. It gave him a _good_ chance, even— and for that, his gratitude to the universe (multiverse?) swelled hugely.

But Belinda Penobscot had been terrified that there was no time to even call in a tip that there was a chance the plane might be attacked, get them to change course. That worried him— so he pulled out all the stops.

As he slipped past mach thirty-five, he started consciously curving his flight with the planet, so that he wouldn't go too high— a definite danger at the speeds he was moving. He found his geographic markers, got in the groove for a non-stop flight from LA to New York (his new friends were wealthy, and Angel and Faith would certainly be on a non-stop flight, giving him another edge towards success), and flew like hell chased him.

He crossed the Rocky Mountains, and cut his speed to mach twenty or so, giving him a better chance of locating the dot of an aircraft.

He spotted it at the same moment that he saw a gout of flame from a spot on a mountainside below him and to his left.

By his (admittedly rough) calculations, he had ten seconds to prevent a standard surface-to-air missile from reaching it's target— but he had to operate as though this wasn't a standard missile.

That turned out to be a wise choice. Even as Colin accelerated hard towards the aircraft, the missile fairly exploded away from the mountainside, accelerating faster than anything he'd ever seen, maybe faster than the damned missiles designed by Praetor's geek-goon, Technophile, and those had been fast as all hell (and designed to kill Colin, to boot).

Okay, so he'd have to be smooth and careful and _fast_. No problem— this was what he _did_.

Colin accelerated hard at the missile, slowed, curved around and came in over it as it crossed the halfway point between it and the aircraft. Not knowing how big a blast it might create, he did the only smart thing… though it probably wouldn't seem smart to someone outside the situation, or who hadn't done this sort of thing before.

Colin flew closer, got under the missile, rose up 'til his left shoulder pressed against the bottom of it, a few inches behind the nosecone, caught it with his hand, holding it to his shoulder— and flew up, hard and sharp.

The missile resisted the change in direction— gyro-stabilized, dammit— and he pushed harder, forced the nose up, up farther— then they were passing over the airplane, at least four hundred feet over it, and still rising.

He felt the damned thing bucking and trying to turn, and felt a grudging respect for its maker; it should have run out of fuel by now, and certainly shouldn't be able to turn and try to re-acquire its target— but that was just what it was doing.

In fact, it was fighting hard, tugging him back over as it struggled to home on the airplane— probably programmed to lock onto the plane's navigation transponder— and Colin had to fight to keep it going straight up.

He held it for another half a second, increasing the distance between it and the aircraft to some five hundred yards—

_**BOOOOOOOOOOOM!**_

The explosion of the rocket flung Colin down and towards the plane, shook him up, left him dizzy and in pain— but his force field held, and it didn't kill him, or even do him serious injury.

He corrected his flight, steadied himself some— and saw the plane recovering from being tossed around by the shockwave, which seemed much stronger than it should have been from a missile of that size.

He flew after the plane, knowing that while he was a lot stronger than any normal human being, he didn't have the strength needed to do anything for the plane itself, and willing the pilots to make the recovery, get the bird back on an even keel.

In a few seconds, the pilots wrestled the airplane back under control, and Colin cheered inwardly. He saw the craft bank, slowly and carefully, and watched as they settled into a new flight path. He followed for a moment, traced their new heading in his head— and decided that they were heading for Denver. They were already close, he knew— and the plane's angle of descent confirmed that.

To be sure that everything was all right, Colin followed the plane down, staying out of traffic patterns as best he could, staying as high as he could and still be sure that the plane he followed was the right one. Once the plane had landed— it spent zero time in a holding pattern, landed immediately— and slowed to a simple roll, Colin decided that the danger was past, and went to tell Jocelyn and her extended family that he'd done it.

Angel or Faith must have called them, he decided, because he no sooner landed in Buffy and Xander's back yard and pulled himself in through the library window than a whole bunch of yelling, babbling, happy-crying people swarmed him and all tried to hug him at once.

Finally, after Jocelyn had kissed him multiple times and everyone else had hugged him repeatedly, he was pulled to a chair, allowed to sit (with Jocelyn and Belinda on either side of him, as close as they could get and Nightfall settled proudly on his shoulder), and Giles thanked him formally.

"Colin… young man, you have just saved the lives of three of our own," Giles said, polishing his glasses and setting them back on his face. "As well as some two hundred other lives in the plane alone, and no telling how many might have died on the ground— the plane was over Colorado Springs, the wreckage… well, you stopped it.

"Young man— if you ever, _ever_ so much as hint that you don't feel you are doing your part for us, earning your keep… I shall cheerfully allow my wife to lecture you, Whitey to berate you, Willow to curse you, Xander to look at you sadly— he's very good at that, it's quite distressing— and every Slayer within hearing to beat you insensate.

"You have put us substantially in your debt, Colin— and we thank you."

Colin stood, bowed formally, then sat down and took Jocelyn and Belinda's hands again.

"Now, I think it is time to return to business," Giles said, his voice hardening. "I don't know who is doing this, or why— but I know that they have committed an act of murder to hurt us, and tried several more.

"Whoever is behind this… they seem to want a war.

"Very well… then whoever they are, _we will give them a war!"_

Jocelyn stood up slowly, said, "You're right, Giles— it's time we declared war.

"And I think I know who to declare it on!"

For a long moment, everyone sat in stunned silence. Finally, Buffy spoke.

"Tell us, Jocelyn." She squeezed Xander and Willow's hands, took a slow, steadying breath, and said, "Tell us who killed Alex."

Jocelyn told them.


	10. Naming the Enemy

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 10: Naming the Enemy

_A Note to Readers: It is important to remember that, while there have been parallel developments in this story and its prequel to the Buffy Season Eight comics (as example, Andrew Wells residing in Italy), __**NO PART**__ of those comics (or, for that matter, Angel, Season Five or the comic book series that followed it) actually happened in the universe of this fan fiction!_

I sat and clung to Mom and waited for Colin to come back— and I had waking nightmares of what it would cost us if he failed, and of what it would do to him, how much a second failure, costing not just the lives of a couple of hundred people, but of three people we all loved, would hurt him.

To distract myself, I went back to thinking about who it might be behind all of this. The added information from Belinda (not much doubt but that she was psychic now!), the things Diane and Vincent had said, and Willow's little spiel about what the enemy wasn't… those had my metaphorical nose quivering as I caught a scent and tried to run it down.

Fact: The man who had killed my friend Alex, the son of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, had been undetectable to Willow, who had checked for human, undead, demon, magical and, finally alive. Nothing. That didn't, as she said, leave a lot of possibilities. I didn't like the idea of an alien (what the hell, fighting the supernatural isn't enough, now I have to be an X-Files agent as well as a Slayer!?), and I didn't think that it made sense, either. An alien would still be alive, right? Okay, maybe Willow wouldn't be able to detect it, but I mean— alive is alive, so that didn't really make sense.

Fact: Diane and Vincent, two experts approaching from totally different perspectives, decided that this was about revenge, and I couldn't argue with either one's reasoning.

Fact: The enemy was a genius. You'd have to be, to get bombs onto airplanes anymore, the security on airports had peaked around 2013 at a scary high— and never fallen. Add in a rocket launcher that, according to my psychic little sister (and boy, was I glad we got along— can you imagine the pain in the ass a psychic little sister could be if she wasn't on your side?), was "set to go off" when it detected the plane Faith, Angel and their little girl Helena were on. Now, I know just enough to know that planes fly over the same area a lot, like air-highways. So this rocket that was "set to go off"— not remote fired— could distinguish between planes.

Fact: The enemy was a coward. He killed a kid, a kid not even thirteen yet, to make his point. So… chickenshit asshole. Also total dickhead, utter scumbag, evil shithead— but I digress.

Fact: The absolute clincher… the enemy tried to kill Andrew Wells. Andrew, who had, yes, blossomed as a Watcher, but had never stopped being a geek, poor, nerdy Andrew, who could never be a threat to much of anyone, and who came to the US once a year, maybe twice, and otherwise stayed in Florence and ran the Italian headquarters of the Slayers.

I had it. I knew who, and I thought I knew _how_.

I opened my mouth to say something, and the phone rang, the house phone. Xander practically pounced on it, hit the speakerphone and said, "Harris residence."

"Xander, it's Angel," said the head of our West Coast branch. "You need to warn everyone, someone just tried to shoot our plane down! We're okay, but—"

Angel's remaining words got drowned out by whoops and cheers— and me sobbing in sheer relief.

"Angel— you sure that you're okay?" Xander called. "The plane's okay?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," Angel said. "What the hell's going on, Xander? Did you guys know something about this?"

"We had a four or so minute warning, yeah," Xander said. "Listen… did anybody report seeing a flying person right before or after the explosion?"

"How'd you know?" Angel asked. "Right before the explosion, Faith and I both heard the pilots yell— we're in first class, right at the front— then one of them said, 'what the hell— was that a guy _wrestling a rocket!?'_ "

We whooped again, and Xander finally shouted into the phone, "Angel, on your way out, if you really want to mess with your pilot's head, tell him that's _exactly_ what he saw.

"Look… has anyone seen him since?"

"Well… I think I owe Helena an apology, the way you're talking," Angel admitted. "We banked for Denver— we'll be late, they say the plane seems okay, but the shockwave was intense, and the pilots want to get us down— and while we were banking, Helena was looking out the window, and she told us that there was a man flying somewhere back behind us. I told her she was imagining things— I take it she was right?"

"Yes, she was," Xander said. "Angel, we're trying to warn everyone who's coming here— I need to go. We'll explain when you get here— and let you meet the guy who saved your ass."

"Mine and my family's," Angel said. "I owe him big time. More than I can repay."

"We all do," Xander said. "We've lost enough— no losing friends, too. No, screw it— no losing any more _family_."

"Thanks, Xander," Angel said. "Listen, you sound like you're gonna see the guy that saved us before I do— tell him thanks for me. Then I'll— we'll— do it again when we get there."

"Will do," Xander said. He hung up the phone, looked at me and said, "You know, you're lucky you got to him first— I think _I_ could fall in love with Colin!"

We grinned, and I decided to wait with my revelation. Xander was right— warning everyone needed doing, and it needed doing now. Yes, we'd warned everyone that Belle had seen being attacked, but psychics all work different ways; she might not have seen, or be _able_ to see, attacks on people she hadn't met. So I let my family take care of warning all of our extended family, and I waited for Colin to come home. Some part of me worried that he'd run himself out of power and snapped back to his own universe, but that part of me was small— I knew him, even without having read his comics, I knew him, and I knew that he'd follow Angel, Faith and Helena's plane until it landed, just to be sure it was okay.

Didn't change the mind-boggling relief I felt when he climbed in the window some fifteen minutes later, whole and healthy and yes, his clothes a lot tattered, but his skin beneath them unmarked.

Once the hug-and-kiss fest ended, we all sat back down, and Giles thanked my man formally, then got back to business.

"Now, I think it is time to return to business," Giles said, his voice a thing of cold stone and edged weapons. "I don't know who is doing this, or why— but I know that they have committed an act of murder to hurt us, and tried several more.

"Whoever is behind this… they seem to want a war.

"Very well… then whoever they are, _we will give them a war!"_

That was my cue. I stood up and said, "You're right, Giles— it's time we declared war.

"And I think I know who to declare it on!"

Everyone stared for a couple of seconds, then Buffy said, "Tell us, Jocelyn. Tell us who killed Alex."

"Your first instinct is going to be to tell me that I'm wrong, that I _can't_ be right," I warned. "But I think I am— and I think I know how it was done. So… hear me out, please?"

"Of course," Buffy said. "Of course, Jocelyn— after all, I'm the one who told you to not count an enemy out because we think they're dead."

"I know," I said. "But… well, this one's gonna sound nuts."

"We'll hear you out, honey-girl," Dad said. "You're trying, and I know this is hard for you— so we'll hear you out."

"Okay," I said. I took a deep breath, stroked Royal's neck where it hung across my chest, and said, "Let me explain how I got where I did, first.

"The enemy is a genius— getting bombs onto planes these days, no sort of easy, and building a rocket that can distinguish between planes flying along the equivalent of an aerial highway, less easy. We don't know how long it was there, but still, probably at least one other plane passed over, and with weather and other sorts of delays possible, I don't think you could trust something like that to a timer. So it could tell planes apart. Add in that he figured or found out what plane Angel and his family were on in the first place, and the enemy has to be intelligent.

"He's a coward. He killed a boy to make his point, and did it while there was no one around who could protect him.

"Diane and Vincent agree that this is about revenge, not a pre-emptive strike, and I see their logic, agree with it.

"And the bad guy tried to kill Andrew. Andrew Wells, who comes to America once or twice a year, has spent the rest of the last fifteen years in Europe. Andrew, who, while a good Watcher, will never be a dangerous person in any capacity besides that of Watcher.

"That gets me one answer. One possible answer.

"It's Warren Mears. The guy who worked with Andrew and that Jonathan guy to try and take over Sunnydale."

"But… but I… I k-killed him!" Willow said. "Jocelyn, honey, I know you aren't supposed to discount anyone just because they're dead, but sweetie, I— he's dead! _Really_ dead."

"I know, Wil," I said. "I'm sorry that this is going to freak you so bad— but I'm right, I know it! And I know how he did it, I think.

"Buffy, Xander, Willow… when did you first meet Warren?"

"Well, that's… pretty much locked in my mind," Buffy said, her eyes welling up, making me curse myself for this, for reminding her of another loss now, while she was trying to deal with the loss of her son. "It was right before my M-mom died. He'd built that robot girlfriend for himself, April, her name was, then just aban… doned… her…."

Understanding lit Buffy's eyes, but I pushed on.

"Yes," I said. "Later, he made the robot version of you, Buffy, for Spike. That was good enough to fool a _god,_ to fool Glory, after Willow tinkered with the programming some, and to fool all the monsters in Sunnydale while Wil was working to resurrect you.

"Willow couldn't find any sign that the bastard who killed Alex was human, undead, demon, magical or even _alive_.

"I think it's Warren— I know he made a robot version of himself before he died, just to fool Willow and give himself a head start— but I think there was a second one, a… a more complete, perfect version, and that's the robot version we're facing now."

"B-but it looked nothing like him!" Willow protested. "It looked like—"

"Like Jared Leto, an actor whom half of the females in the parts of the world where movies from the United States are shown would cheerfully go to bed with in a heartbeat," I said. "If I remember the stuff I read in the Watcher's Journals that Giles kept, and the stories I've heard from you guys, Warren was all about getting laid, and didn't have any scruples about how.

"Now, before you go reminding me that it's been sixteen years since he died, well… more reason to think it's not him, right? More time for him to build a better revenge, to plan, to figure out a way around there being over two thousand Slayers now."

"But… but why attack Buffy's family?" Willow said, still desperately looking for a way out of this, out of having to deal with this being a man whom she'd killed. "I'm the one who… who killed him!"

"Willow," I said, trying to be gentle, "you killed him because he murdered Tara, your girlfriend. But he wasn't _aiming_ at Tara… he was trying to kill Buffy, because he hated her. Also… well, I'm sure he knows you killed him, he's had years to learn it— but he probably doesn't _remember_ that, not personally. I mean— I know nothing about how you download your brain into a robot, but I doubt you can do it easily, or at a distance. So I'll bet he did it right before he went after Buffy, and never updated the download. From what I read, what I heard, he was pretty constantly on the run after that, so he probably didn't have time to update it.

"So… Buffy is still his prime target. She humiliated him, she broke him— _she beat him,_ and for a woman-hating bastard like him? That's got to be awful. So he targets her first."

"My god," Giles said. He looked at me with a new kind of respect in his eyes, and I basked in it, even while I hated the circumstances that brought it about. "Jocelyn, you do make a compelling argument, and I cannot fault your chain of reasoning at all. I believe you have it, and I know it's worth investigating further."

"There are things I can't make fit," I said. "Nancy, and Angel, Faith and Helena. But Brian? He's our computer guy, our tech-wizard. That would be a reason for a robot-guy to make him a target."

"Nancy I can explain," Buffy said. "Wil? Remember the night we had the girl-gabfest? Not long after she arrived at Scooby Mansion?"

"Oh, yeah," Willow said. "He asked her out, and she shot him down during our— hers and my— Junior year at UC Sunnydale. She said he asked her out several times, and she finally blew up at him— humiliated him at a party, in front of dozens of people."

"Still leaves Angel and his family sticking out, but one bit that doesn't fit doesn't mean you're wrong, Jocelyn," Xander said. "It just means we don't know everything yet. I think you're right. I'm with Giles. As much as I hate to think about it… yeah. I think it's Warren."

"Jocelyn… thank you," Buffy said. She walked around the table, hugged me (Royal moved out of the way, knowing it would be a crusher-hug), kissed my cheek, and added, "Thank you, honey— for me, for Xander, for Joyce, and for… for Alex."

"Never, ever a problem," I said, squeezing back. "I just… I wish I didn't _have_ to, damn him!"

"I know, sweetie," she said. She squeezed me again, then moved over to Daddy, pulled him to his feet, hugged him hard, too. "Bringing Jocelyn in was your idea, Whitey. Thank you."

"You're welcome, Buffy," Daddy said. He looked at me, gave me a smile that said better than words ever could have how proud he was of me, and said, "I'm just glad it paid off."

"Yes, it certainly did," Giles said. "All right… at this point, things are very probably going to become a bit technical as we begin to work out methods for confirming Jocelyn's theory and locating our enemy. Jocelyn, do you have any ideas along those lines?"

"No, Giles, sorry," I said. "I'm not a witch or anything, so I don't have a clue how to find him— if it is him."

"I'm pretty sure you're right, damn him," Willow said, sounding shaky. "So… thanks, Jocelyn. I'm sorry you're right, but glad you thought of it."

"All right," Giles said. "At this point, those of you who are not users of magic or detectives may go, if you like. Belinda, Jocelyn, Chantelle, I suggest you three go on back to the guest house— this discussion may involve… things that might disturb you.

"Colin… do you mind staying? Your perspective on this will be unique, I am sure, and I do think you may be able to help."

It ended up with Mom, Belle, Aunt Rose, Aunt Elaine and I leaving them to it, going and sitting in the back yard. Gwendolyn brought Mi Kyong, Stephen and Danielle down from the guest house when Mom called her… and all of Uncle Ballard's kids came out and sat with us… as well as Joyce, Alex's twin sister.

Joyce… the poor girl barely spoke, barely seemed able to speak— but when she heard that I'd maybe identified who'd done this, that her mom, her dad and Giles all thought I had, she came and crawled into my lap and cried and hugged me. She stayed there until lunch, thanking me the only way she could right then, by being with me, holding onto me.

After lunch— nowhere near as big as usual— Mom, Gwendolyn, Belle, Danielle, Stephen, Mi Kyong and I went back to the guest place, got there just as Sara Lamont, one of the veterans of the Battle of Bloomington, arrived— and shocked the hell out of me, gave Mom a start, and even surprised Gwendolyn, who knew her, though not as well as Mom, or even me.

Sara wasn't alone. Chelsea Yoder, another Slayer and veteran of the Battle of Bloomington, a year or so younger than Sara's twenty-seven, was with her— and they were holding hands in a way that almost screamed "romantically involved." Thing was, Sara had never dated a girl in all the time we'd known her, which for me was my whole _life!_

Sara and Chelsea saw us staring— and laughed, both of them.

"I know, I know, I've always claimed to be straight," Sara said, her voice having picked up just a trace of an Aussie accent in the six years she'd spent running Team Slayer's Sydney HQ. "Well, I was wrong— I admit it."

We made introductions, everybody hugged everybody, and we went inside.

"So what led you two to hookin' up?" Mom asked as we went inside. "If I'm not bein' too nosy, anyway?"

"Oh, not much secret about it," Sara said. "We got called over to Tasmania one night about a month ago, they had a serious vampire gang haunting Hobart— the capitol city there— and needed Slayers.

"So I took Chelsea and a half a dozen other girls you don't know, and we went down there to handle it. No troubles, not at first. Then the leaders, a man and a woman who were trying to become the Spike and Drusilla of Australia— or, and I'll deny having ever said this, the Angelus and Darla of Australia— did a runner. Well, they were both pretty tough, so I took Chelsea along with me, and we chased them. They went up Mount Wellington, not far from town, and we chased them. Caught them, eventually, and made dust.

"We'd had to do the last five miles or so on foot, and we got caught in a blizzard up near the peak. Wellington sees more snow in a month than the rest of Australia in a year, I think, and we got hit hard."

"But all those survival lessons from Vincent paid off," Chelsea said, picking up the thread. "We built a lean-to, up under some heavy trees, and once the weight of the snow pushed the branches down, we had our lean-to and about a twenty foot circle of nice, clear area out of the wind and snow. We punched a couple of air holes in the snow cover, and laid down to go to sleep.

"Now, I think I was pretty subtle about it, but I've been carrying a torch for Sara since I was about thirteen, so what happened next was probably my subconscious mind taking a chance— not that I'm upset about it, but if she'd been mad, it might have been… really awkward at least."

"Yeah, I suppose it might have been," Sara said, sitting down on the couch and pulling Chelsea down with her, the two of them snuggling instantly. "I mean, it's not every day you wake up to find another girl's hand up your shirt, cupping your breast."

"Uh, you know, I'm going to go finish unpacking," my brother Stephen said, blushing and moving off quickly, trying to hide the fact that he'd just gotten an instant erection.

We all managed to hold off laughing until we heard his bedroom door close, though it was a near thing, then we even managed to laugh quietly.

"Thing about waking up like that was," Sara said, continuing the tale, "that it felt really good— my nipple was hard as hell, and I felt… excited. Way excited. So I didn't do anything about it, just… laid there and enjoyed it until Chelsea woke up about a half an hour later. She started to move her hand immediately, and I just… put my hand on hers, held it there. I expected her to say something— 'are you sure,' maybe, or 'I didn't do it on purpose,' or something, but—"

"But I played 'seize the moment,' and I kissed her," Chelsea said, demonstrating briefly. "Three minutes later, neither of us had on a stitch of clothes, and a couple minutes after that, I was in heaven."

"We were both in heaven, honey," Sara said, and kissed her again. "So… still not objecting to the guys, and Chelsea's bi, too, so we're looking for an open minded guy worthy of our attentions. Chantelle, Gwendolyn, can we steal Whitey?"

"No, honey, he's mine and Gwendolyn's" Mom said. "And Gwendy's carryin' his baby right now, so I gotta go with not just no, but 'hell no!'

"Now, Jocelyn might be willing to share her fella, but I don't think so, not yet anyhow."

"Nope, sorry," I said immediately. "Colin Goddard is all mine."

"Colin… I know that name," Sara said. "Where do I know it from…?"

No surprise, that— Sara was a fellow fantasy and science fiction fan, and a comic book fan to boot. So I just had a little bit of fun (in times like those, you take what you can get), and dropped it on her like a bomb.

"He uses the name Starpulse, sometimes," I said, trying to sound thoughtful around an incipient giggle. "Or he used to…."

Sara blinked— then rolled her eyes and said, "Yeah, okay— you've got a boyfriend who's a comic book superhero, right."

"She's not lyin'," Mom said. "The man saved Angel, Faith, Helena and a whole shitload of people from a rocket hitting their plane, not more'n three hours ago."

"Are you— you can _not_ be serious!" Sara said, while Chelsea watched her with amusement and affection. "You're going to tell me that Colin Goddard, Starpulse, a man from a comic book whose creator died seven years ago, ending the title since he was also the publisher, is dating you? And he saved Angel's family?"

"He saved my life a few seconds after arriving in this universe," I said. "Then he helped me and Vincent get Mi Kyong, here, out of the North Korean prison camp where she was being held for having a Japanese father. Then, yes, he went and stopped the bad guy's rocket from blowing up Angel's plane. Seriously."

Sara looked around, saw that no one was laughing or looking mischievous, then looked back at me and Mi Kyong. "Start talking!" she said, leaning forward eagerly.

I told it all, with input from Mi Kyong about the end of our rescue of her, and Sara listened raptly. Then, when I finished, Mom embarrassed me— in a good way.

"That's… holy shit, that's incredible!" Sara said. She leaned back, looked at me with a grin that hadn't changed much since my earliest memories of her (she was around all the time until I was six, then went and took over the Sydney Slayers) and said, "Honey… you sure can get yourself into some crazy things."

"That ain't all she can do," Mom said. She gave me an I'm-Proud-of-You smile, then said, in a more serious voice, "Jocelyn very likely figured out who's behind Alex's murder. Giles, Whitey, Buffy, Xander, Willow… they all think she's right."

"Hot damn," Sara said. "Tell me, Chantelle— Jocelyn's too busy blushing."

Mom told it, and Sara and Chelsea listened attentively. When she finished, they both looked at me and nodded seriously.

"Jocelyn, that's some damned good thinking, do ya know?" Sara said, her Aussie creeping in. "I see how you got there, and I've read the same books and heard the same stories— but I'd never have put it all together like that.

"Good job, Slayer."

"Thank you," I said, blushing. "I'd pay not to have had to, but… it's a relief to know I may have helped."

"I don't think there's a lot of 'may have' in there," Chelsea said. "You got it. It _feels_ right. Slayer-gut-feeling feels right."

I thanked her, too— then led the two of them upstairs to their room so they could try and nap off their jet lag before supper.

I got back downstairs to find that Delia Kent had arrived with Felicia Tanner and her husband, a Watcher named Sam Tanner, and Jenna Darius, all veterans of the Battle of Bloomington but Sam. Before supper, Watcher Charles Gunn and his wife, Slayer Brianne Dayton, and their son Micah, and Wesley and Fred (short for Winifred) Wyndham-Pryce, both Watchers— and all veterans of the Battle of Bloomington. Mom embarrassed-me-slash-made-me-feel-proud by telling all of them that I'd figured out who was after us, too.

"You definitely take after your father, with thinking like that," Wesley said. "Given that I've seen you with various thrown weapons… I do believe you've gotten the best of both worlds from your parents."

"No surprise," Brianne said, smiling my way. "Nice job, kiddo. Can I steal you for our team in Seattle?"

"No, I'm staying with my family," I said, and hugged Mom. "Come on, I'll show you guys your rooms."

We all went over to Buffy and Xander's for supper, which was eaten in the back yard at several picnic tables back there. We'd barely gotten there, hadn't even gotten out back— I was still kissing Colin hello when the doorbell rang, and Xander went to answer it, Mom trailing him because nobody did much of anything alone right now.

Colin and I were still kissing while Mi Kyong sat and kibitzed with Mom when Xander came back in with Angel, Faith and little Helena, who, at six, you could already see was going to be a raging beauty when she got older.

"Looks like you'll have to wait a second to say thank you, guys," Xander said. "I'm not going to interrupt that sort of thing."

Colin and I parted a few seconds later, and Xander said, "Okay. Angel, Faith and Helena Kilpatrick, allow me to introduce Mi Kyong Takeda, a new Slayer who had to be rescued from a North Korean prison camp where she was being held for the unpardonable sin of being part Japanese… and Colin Goddard, who managed to stop the rocket that was headed for your plane this morning. Colin, Mi Kyong, Angel's a Watcher and a former vampire— long story, that— and Faith's a Slayer. Helena is a professional hug-monster, world champion class.

"Guys, Colin can't talk— we'll explain that as we go along— but he can hear, and there's nothing wrong with his thinking. Of course, since he figured out how to find that rocket that was supposed to make your flight out here new kinds of rough, you probably figured that out."

"Colin," Angel said, stepping forward and grabbing Colin's hand in both of his. "Thank you. I can't ever repay you— but I'm damn sure going to try."

"What he said," Faith said. She shook Colin's hand, then kissed his cheek lightly. "I ain't much on the speeches, but… yeah. You saved me, you saved Angel— and you saved our little girl. You need, you get."

Helena stepped up then, and Colin squatted down to put his eyes on her level. Immediately, she flung herself in his arms and hugged him hard, kissed each cheek, and said, "You saved us from that rocket-thing. You're my best friend!"

Colin smiled that little smile that was the best he could manage and stood, lifting Helena with him. No one objected (least of all Helena), so he carried her outside and held her for a few minutes, played pantomime with her to distract her as Buffy hugged each of her parents and wept before setting her down between her mother and father as we all sat down to eat. Vi showed up too, with all of the newbies, and I found myself surrounded by people in the most not-a-party atmosphere I'd ever encountered.

Once everyone had eaten as well as we were going to (appetites had taken a definite downward turn), Giles asked Nathaniel and Linnea Innes to take charge of all of the kids, Slayer and non, told me and Mi Kyong both to stay, and once they'd all gone around front to play, he spoke.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Giles said, his voice slow and sad, "we have all come here because of an unspeakable act that took someone we all love from us. However, thanks to Jocelyn Penobscot, we know, now, who is responsible for this hideous act of murder."

That produced a rumble from everyone, and Giles let it go on until it died of it's own accord.

"From the look on Jocelyn's face," Giles said with a ghost of a smile, "she does not wish to explain her reasoning herself— so I will endeavor to explain it for you all.

"Jocelyn reasoned that our enemy had to have a genius intellect…."

He went through it all while I sat and blushed and stared at my hands, interlocked with Colin's and Mi Kyong's, and tried to not let my head swell. I think I did okay at that.

"… and coupled with the things Willow ruled out— human being, undead creature, demon of any sort, magical being, even living creature of any sort… Jocelyn realized that our opponent is a _robot,_ is, in fact, a robotic version of Warren Mears, the man who murdered Tara Maclay while attempting to murder Buffy.

"We have, via use of the Oracle of Yelthindar, determined that Jocelyn's theory is correct. We are facing Warren Mears… a Warren Mears with sixteen years of additional study and technological advances to take advantage of, and whose… peculiar form of immortality may, we believe, have left him more amoral and without scruples than before.

"Further, though we have no idea who they may be, we know that Warren has allies, and that one of them, at least, has a personal stake in this matter as well."

That produced a lot of rumbling, and Giles again let it run its course before trying to speak.

"Yes," Giles said. "At this point, I have put all Watchers, Guardians and Slayers on red alert. Warren is obviously not content to bring his fight to Buffy directly, and that means he may well strike out at anyone she cares about… which includes the entire organization.

"I ask that you all be careful, ask all of your friends and allies to be careful, and to report anything unusual to you. If it seems at all odd to you, please pass it on to me."

I just sat between Colin and Mi Kyong, waited to see what came next.


	11. All About Guilt

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 11: All About Guilt

What happened next was that Giles went over everything we knew about Warren— how he'd started his career as a mad villain, the things he'd done, what Diane had been able to determine about his psychology.

It was while Giles was going over the things that we'd learned since Alex's death that I had a moment of shocked realization— and cried aloud, "Oh, crap, we're stupid!"

Everyone turned to look at me, and Giles said, "What is it, Jocelyn? What did we miss?"

"I— I'm sorry," I said, blushing. "I may be wrong, but— Judas _goat,_ I don't think so!

"Giles, earlier, when Vincent was explaining about why we should call Brian and have him check computers and phones and stuff, he said that… that 'the assassin had foreknowledge,' and that we should check things like phones and computers because of that.

"But Giles— oh, god, how did I miss it!? Giles, the vampires at the prison camp! The vampires who showed up at _exactly_ the right moment to avoid detection, but to be there to fight us and try to prevent us from leaving the camp! Foreknowledge! Right there, right in front of us!"

"And we missed it," Daddy said, smacking himself in the forehead. "Honey-girl, you've done it again!"

"Yeah, but it took me too long," I said, disgusted with myself. "I should have—"

"Stop that!" Xander said, jabbing a finger my way. "Jocelyn Kelly Penobscot, we all knew about that, and we all missed it, might have gone on missing it for— well, forever! But you thought of it, thought of it when you're hurting too, and damn it, I'm not going to sit here and let you help when I know you hurt and then kick yourself around for being _faster_ than any of the rest of us!"

"Xander," Buffy said, laying a hand on his arm. "Honey… ease down a little, okay? You sound… mad at her."

Xander blinked, dry-scrubbed his face, and said in a low voice, "I'm sorry, Jossie. I… didn't mean to come off all hardass like that, I just…."

"You're just doing exactly what you just yelled at me for doing," I said— and stuck my tongue out at him. He snorted a tiny little laugh, and I felt like nine quintillion dollars for getting just that little-bitty laugh. "It's okay, Xander. I won't do it again if you won't. And under the circumstances, I'll even forgive the use of _that_ nickname. But don't milk it."

"Deal," Xander said. "Sorry, Giles. Go on, please."

"Jocelyn raises an excellent point," Giles said. "Let me fill you all in on the particulars…."

Giles talked them through it, and we all added it to the mental database. People talked a bit, Brian (who'd arrived from Japan halfway through dinner) agreed to do the computer-and-phone check anyway, and before he slept, Gunn volunteered to take over site security at the guest house and Buffy and Xander's house, since Vincent would be busy at the Millennium, Xander accepted with thanks — and Andrew arrived, just as we were preparing to split up and go home. He'd had to answer a lot of questions before catching a plane (since he warned the authorities about the other one having a bomb aboard), and that had slowed him and his group of a dozen Slayers, brought along because they were field leaders, and some of them had known and been friends with Alex, Joyce, Buffy, Xander or some combination thereof.

Daddy asked me if I wanted to stay, be there when they told him what was going on, and I accepted, though I didn't really want to be there. He deserved to have me there to question, is all. So Daddy, Buffy, Giles, Xander, Angel, Willow and I all went into the library with him and the one Slayer who refused to leave his side.

That Slayer was another of the four of us who'd been born to the power, and she'd appointed herself his bodyguard. Not surprising, because Jenny Carlotti had never known her father, her mother had been killed when the girl was just two— and Andrew had pretty much raised her, with the help of his Slayers. He was her dad in her head, I'm pretty sure, and was she his daughter in his head.

(Funny thing… everyone assumed that me and those other girls born with the Slayer power would get along just great, automatically be the best of friends. Didn't work like that. Oh, I didn't dislike any of them, but I only got along really well with Natalie Moore, a half-Black English girl who shared my love of fantasy, science fiction and the Discworld, as well as being painfully sexy, as into girls as me [more, actually, she identified as a lesbian], a hellcat of the best kind in bed, and could dance almost as well as Aunt Elaine. With Jenny Carlotti and Mira Rodriguez, I got along okay— no fights, no instant dislike, or dislike at all— but we had nothing in common but the Slayer power and our connection to it.)

So we all went to the library, and Giles got us all seated before saying, "Andrew, I am afraid I have a bit of news that may… disturb you."

"Has someone else been killed?" Andrew asked, looking worried. "Or is—"

"No, no one else has been killed, Andrew," Giles said. He cleaned his glasses, set them back on his face, and said, "No, it's just that… well, Jocelyn, here, has figured out for us who is behind the murder of Alex Harris, and the attempts on your life, Angel and his family's lives, and the lives of Brian Keller and Nancy Carter."

"Excellent!" Andrew said. "Good job, Jocelyn!

"But… why would that be upsetting?"

"Andrew… let me explain Jocelyn's reasoning, that you may see it as plainly as she made all of us see it," Giles said. He explained slowly— and finished with, "… and the final piece, the piece which locked all of this in Jocelyn's mind firmly, was the attempt to kill you, Andrew. That, as she put it, was 'the clincher' to her deductions."

Andrew saw it— I could tell, because he turned paper white, and his eyes got big. "Oh. Oh, no. No, he's— he's—"

"He's a genius with _robotics,"_ I said softly, reaching over to squeeze his hand. "It's not the— the _original_ Warren, Andrew, but a robot he built, and somehow put his memories and stuff into."

"God," Andrew said, looking sick. "God, that… I wish I didn't believe you."

The next words out of Andrew's mouth made my respect for him— and I did respect him, because he did the job of Watcher well, even though he wasn't the physical, go-out-and-fight type, like most of the Watchers I knew were— what he said next sent my respect for him up to about ten times what it had been a second before.

"Okay, get Diane in here, and everyone who's going to be involved in any way in planning how to stop him," Andrew said. "I'm going to tell you every little thing I can about his Sith-turning butt, everything I can remember. In fact, can Sh'rin hypnotize me, improve my recall? Or— Willow, can you do something to jack my memory up to photographic?

"And listen— maybe I can draw him out. You set a trap, I can… I can, can be, you know— the bait."

I saw his stock in the eyes of everyone there jump about two thousand percent at those words.

Well… almost everyone.

"Andrew, no!" Jenny said in her accented English, her big, dark, Italian eyes going wide in shock. "No, you cannot, I say no!"

"Hush, Jenny," Andrew said, his voice very gentle. "I have to. I… I was part of some of the awful things that Warren did, and I have to make up for it."

"Andrew," Buffy said, her eyes welling up some with tears. "Andrew, that's the bravest thing you've ever said— but Jenny, stop worrying. Andrew won't be the bait in anyone's trap.

"I don't use my _friends_ that way."

Andrew's eyes did the welling then, and Buffy hugged him— and Jenny hugged him as soon as they parted.

"We will, however, take you up on the rest of your offer," Giles said. "Jocelyn, I think we can spare you this— you've done enough for one day, more than we could have expected or asked. Would you please go find Diane and Sh'rin, ask them to join us? I believe Andrew's suggestion of having Sh'rin hypnotize him is a very good one."

I nodded, said good night, hugged everyone— even Andrew and Jenny, they deserved it— and went to find Diane and Sh'rin and send them to the library. Then I went back to the guest house with everyone but Daddy— Daddy was pretty well rested, but Angel was clearly exhausted, so he went back with us.

Angel was exhausted, and so was Faith— but after they put Helena to bed, they came back down to the (fortunately BIG) living room to join the rest of us, and Angel put out a question that had to have been bugging him for a bit.

"Colin, you know— you'd better know!— that I'm grateful to you for saving Helena, Faith and me, but… how do you do it?" Angel asked. "How do you fly, and catch rockets, and live through the blast when they go off and… and all of it?"

"Angel, _you_ better know you're being dumbass," Faith said, bopping him lightly on the back of the head. "Guy can't talk, remember?"

"It's okay," Ballard said. "I can tell it… if Colin doesn't mind? And Jocelyn will help?"

Colin nodded, waved at Ballard in a "go ahead" sort of gesture, and I agreed to help. Ballard told of Colin's origins, how he'd turned around things for super heroes on his own world, then looked at me.

"Now we have to skip six months or so of Colin's life, because we know very little about it," I said. "And we go to Friday the seventeenth of last month, when I started my first solo mission as a Slayer…."

I told how he'd appeared, saved my life, and what we'd learned about why he couldn't talk, then Mi Kyong and I told about him helping me and Vincent rescue her from the prison camp, then I told them about Belle's vision— and how Colin hadn't hesitated, had just seen that people we cared about were in danger, and gone to take care of it.

Angel and Faith were suitably impressed, and expressed their amazement, as well as expressing their gratitude again.

I saw them looking at each other several times during the time when I was explaining what little we knew about why he couldn't speak, about the guilt that had cut him off from being able to express himself easily, and I thought I saw some "married couple telepathy" going on then. Turns out I was right.

"Colin… Faith and I can— no, I won't say we can understand what you're feeling, but we can probably come closer than anyone else here," Angel said slowly. "We both… have our own darkness we've had to deal with.

"Look… tomorrow morning, Buffy and Xander have to… to go make the funeral arrangements for Alex— delayed a little because of the autopsy— and Willow, Giles and Dawn are going with them. Nobody is going to have much to do in the morning. Could Faith and I… well, talk to you? Just the three of us? We… may be able to help."

Colin stared at Angel for a moment, then turned to look at me.

"I think it's a good idea," I said. "They're right, Colin. They _might_ be able to help."

"Please, Colin," Mi Kyong said softly. "I am not your girlfriend, but… you are my big brother, to me. Please, try. Let them try."

Slowly, Colin turned to look back at Angel and Faith, and he nodded once, a short, curt thing that said he didn't want to do this, not really— but would. Then he pulled Mi Kyong into a hug, smiled that little smile that was all he could do then, and kissed her forehead.

"All right," Angel said. "We'll go for a drive after breakfast. I know a good place we can all go.

"Colin… thanks for letting us try to repay you like this."

Colin nodded again, less curtly, and let out a long breath. Then he stood and bowed to them— just for being willing to try.

I love that man!

We all went to bed, Colin and I snuggled lots— no sex, but much snuggling— and to sleep.

In the morning, after breakfast, Colin went with Angel and Faith off to someplace that Angel knew about where they could all talk and not be disturbed much, while I went and worked with Mom, Aunt Rose and Daddy to train up the newbies some, working in the big back yard of the guest house under the watchful eyes of a whole lot of paranoid pseudo dragons, who flew high sentry.

_Interlude: Outside Mexico City, Mexico_

Warren sat at his primary workbench, bent over a tiny robot, working on it with tools that he could never have used before becoming a cybernetic person— he couldn't have seen to use them, then, and his hands would never, ever have been steady enough to use something that had work surfaces as small as these. Now, though… no need for magnifying lenses, nor of working through computer controlled Waldos— his hands were as steady as rock, more dexterous than any stage magician's, and his eyes better than any microscope, because they could focus faster, didn't require him to use his hands to focus them— and they could also act as binoculars. Hell, no binoculars made had the magnifying power of his eyes— make that telescopes.

He put down a tool to switch to another, and his partner in crime said, "They know."

He didn't jump, but he did spin around quickly— she'd surprised him, he thought she'd gone to bed more than an hour ago.

"What do they know?" he asked. "And how did they find out?"

"They know that it's you," she said, sighing in frustration. "I had a vision. They know that it's you, and that you're… no longer human in the strictest sense. One of the Slayers figured it out. I don't know her, I've never seen her before, except in the vision of the prison breakout. The pretty little blond thing, kinky blond hair and violet eyes. She… she isn't restricted in her thoughts like some are, and she…." Her voice became faraway-sounding, almost singsong, and she said, "She loves the power. She wants to understand it, so she has read everything she could find. She almost worships Buffy, so has learned everything about Buffy's career by heart. Coupled with the psychiatrist's thinking, the soldier's understanding and the attempt on Andrew… she saw it, she made the connection."

"Okay, what about you?" Warren asked. "Have they figured out that you're involved?"

"No, they don't have that," she said. "They know that you have some ability to latch onto the future sometimes, but they don't know it's me."

"Okay, that's a help," Warren said. "Any idea if they know we're here?"

"I saw no indication of that," his partner said. "Or that they've figured out the rest of your little secret, either."

"Excellent," Warren said. "I'd hate to abandon this base— it's kind of… homey."

"Yes, I'm quite fond of it as well." His partner smiled, stretched, and said, "That's all I have for you. I just thought you should know immediately."

"You did right," Warren said. "No change in the danger level, not if they don't know the rest of my… trick, but it's good to be warned. Thanks."

"You're welcome," she said, and yawned. "I'm going back to bed, then. Maybe I'll have another vision, you never know."

"Here's hoping," Warren said. "Thanks again— you're definitely making things a lot easier. And I promise, we'll get your payback, too."

"Yes, well," she said, pausing in the doorway. "Any clue how that bastard stopped it? How he flies?"

"Not yet," Warren admitted. "I'm pretty sure it's not magic, and I saw no indication of technology. So… well, once I get the bugs up and running, we should have some idea."

"All right, then," she said. She pushed her California-blond hair out of her face, smiled at Warren and said, "Back to bed for me, then. See you after bit. Good luck with your microbots."

"Sleep well," he called, watching her leave— again. She knew he was watching, liked that, and added some extra sexy to the walk. "I swear, when this is all over, and Buffy and her family are all dead… I _am_ gonna make a pass at her!"

He turned back to his work as his partner passed out of sight, humming an old Styx tune as he worked. After a moment, he began to sing.

"You're wondering who I am… machine or mannequin… with parts made in Japan… I am the modern man…!"

The work progressed very well.

_Interlude: Prospect Park, the Ravine District, Brooklyn, New York_

Colin looked around the little clearing at the top of a rocky gorge, surrounded by heavy forest growth, and shook his head in amazement. There was no way to tell, with the sound-muffling effect of the trees, that you were in Brooklyn, not the Adirondack mountain range.

He sat with his back against a tree, Angel and Faith both opposite him, both sitting comfortably cross-legged, and Angel spoke.

"Thanks for letting us try this, Colin," Angel said. He sighed, looked at Faith, and she nodded. "See… it's pretty obvious that you don't want to try this, that you… I don't think you're happy with the pain you're carrying, you aren't broken that way. But I do think that you've convinced yourself that you deserve it— and that, my friend, is the biggest crock of shit that you've ever thought."

Colin blinked and stared, and Faith spoke.

"Oh, yeah," Faith said. "Hey, I know from blame, big guy. I spent a lot of time dodging it, a few years accepting it too well, a few years learning to balance it— and the years since I had my little girl moving past it.

"You think you're to blame for a whole lot of people dying. Maybe you are— until you can tell us about it, we can't decide. But one thing we know? You didn't do it on purpose, you dumb ox! And whatever else you think, you better get it through your thick goddamn skull that that really, really does make a difference!

"So… me and Angel, we're gonna explain to you about guilt. I'm going first.

"I first met Buffy in October of ninety-eight, when I came to Sunnydale running from the thing that killed my Watcher…."

Faith told Colin everything. Her attitude problem, her habit of taking what she wanted, her secret jealousy over Buffy's life, her accidental killing of Deputy Mayor Allan Finch, her betrayal of the Scooby Gang by working for Mayor Wilkins, her killing of a harmless demon, a human volcanologist, her attempt to kill Angel, all on the Mayor's orders. She told of her attempt to literally steal Buffy's life some months after her final confrontation with Buffy before the Mayor's attempted Ascension, her flight to LA, her attempts to kill Angel, her torture of Wesley Wyndham-Pryce… all of it.

"So what I'm saying here," she finished, more than half an hour later, "is that yeah, okay, if you're right, and what happened is your fault, your stupid— and I ain't buying that, not without some serious proof, yo— that still ain't a reason to shut yourself off like this. It ain't _nothin',_ Colin, next to the guy I killed on purpose, and the things I did to people who only ever tried to help me."

Colin looked at her for a long time, studied her— and Faith met his gaze, held it, didn't look away. Slowly, he nodded.

"Now it's my turn," Angel said. "Faith got her foot in the door, made you see that your guilt may be real, but it's unreasonable— so let me explain to you about guilt, and darkness and remorse. Even Faith will agree… I know more about it than she does."

"Yeah, you do," Faith said. "One of the few things I really don't want to get all competitive about, you know?"

"That's probably a good thing," Angel said, and squeezed his wife's hand. He looked up at Colin and said, "Okay… Colin, I was born in the year 1727 in the town of Galway, Ireland. For twenty-six years, I accomplished nothing but causing my family grief and spending my father's money on booze and women. In 1753, he threw me out of the house— and I met Darla later that same night. Darla… who made me a vampire."

Colin's nodded, mimed reading a book, then tapped the imaginary page and pointed at Angel.

"You read Rose's book, good," Angel said, leaning back and turning his face to the sun. "So you know that I got cured in December of 2003, during the Battle of Bloomington. I'm human, now— I offer Helena as proof.

"Anyway… Colin, in 1898, I killed a girl… a Gypsy girl, the favorite daughter of the Kalderash clan. In retaliation, they cursed me… with my human soul. They gave me back the ability to feel guilt, to feel remorse, to feel bad about all I'd done… and in the intervening hundred and forty-five years I'd killed somewhere around a hundred… _thousand_… people!"

Colin went pale, a sickly, dead-white pale, as he stared in horror at Angel.

"Yeah," Angel said, his voice leaden and bitter, tears starting to run down his face. "A minimum of one a day for food, and there were times when I killed dozens at a time, Colin, dozens! The night I woke up after being sired, _I killed every person in Galway_— and I saved _my own family_ for last! I killed my little sister, Colin, my eight year-old sister— and I _reveled_ in it!

"So let me tell you the truth about guilt, about remorse, about hating yourself— because you're nothing but a _rank goddamned amateur!"_

Colin Goddard jerked at those last few words, jerked like he'd been slapped— and Angel Kilpatrick, once Liam Kilpatrick, started hammering at the younger man, hitting him with all the guilt and pain of all the horror and death he'd caused and delighted in, and never letting up—

— until Colin _broke_.

_Jocelyn:_

We had lunch about noon, joined by Uncle Ballard and his family— even Aunt Dawn. Aunt Rose told us that the Harris family had returned, and most of them were napping off the hurt of what they'd spent the morning doing.

"Xander, Buffy, Willow and Lydia are all asleep in Xander and Buffy's bed," Aunt Dawn said, sniffling, but smiling a little. "Nothing sexy there— Buffy's too straight, and they're all to monogamous— but it would be really cute if not for why it happened."

I was trying not to stress the long absence of Colin, Angel and Faith, they'd said they could be gone a while, and Royal heard from Angel's pseudo dragon pal, Jet, a few times, and Faith's friend Scythe once. He didn't hear from Nightfall, but I didn't get bothered by that— baby pseudo dragons can't send for anything like the range of an adult.

After lunch had settled, Aunt Dawn managed to tell us the particulars of Alex's visitation and funeral. My friend's visitation would be the next night, Wednesday, at the largest funeral parlor in New York, because Willow would be setting up magical gates with the help of various wizards and Guardians so that as many of the Slayers as wanted to (damn near all of them) and could make it (most of those who wanted to) could come and pay their respects to the son of the lady that most of them had never stopped thinking of as their leader.

Alex would be buried Thursday afternoon in the Green-Wood Cemetery in Brooklyn (a national landmark since 2006), after a ceremony at the funeral home. No member of the Harris family attended any church, so the speakers would be people who knew him, not preachers or priests. There would be three speakers, she said— and stopped there.

"Um, who is going to… to speak?" I asked after a second.

"Giles is going to say something to open it," Aunt Dawn said, her voice ragged and weepy. "Buffy… she's going to finish it."

"Who's speaking between them?" I asked.

"That would be me," said a soft, sad, faintly southern-accented voice from behind me, a voice I knew and loved.

I leaped to my feet, turned around and threw myself into the arms of United States Army Colonel Graham Miller of START (Supernatural Threat Active Response Teams), a Joint Operational Force that often worked with the Watchers, Slayers and Guardians to stop supernatural threats in the United States.

Graham caught me, hugged me, let me cry on him some. He'd been my buddy as long as I could remember— he'd come running to protect me the night I was born, when the rest of the Bloomington-Normal chapter of Team Slayer had been forced to go and kill some ice demons, and he'd been a frequent visitor to Scooby Mansion ever since, and to Buffy and Xander since they moved out here to New York. I love him like I love Uncle Ballard— they're my uncles, and never mind the blood in our veins.

After a couple of minutes, I calmed down some, and I managed to introduce Graham to the people he didn't know— the newbies, mostly, ending with Mi Kyong, whom I introduced as "Mi Kyong Takeda, Slayer-in-training, and the best non-blood sister a girl could ask for."

"Yeah, I heard about you folks having to rescue her," Graham said. He shook Mi Kyong's hand, grinned at her and said, "Quite a family you've found for yourself, Miss Takeda."

"Mi Kyong, please," she replied. She smiled at me, and added, "I know I am lucky, sir— and I am twice lucky for the man helped her save me, who is… I never had an older brother before, but he is that to me, now."

"Graham, not sir," Graham said. "Yeah, I've heard a little bit of impossible about Jocelyn's boyfriend. Where is he, anyway?"

"He's off getting lectured by Faith and Angel," I said. "They're… trying to help him get past something that… well, he's mute. From emotional trauma, not physical damage. They think… they think they can help, and since he sort of saved their lives—"

" 'Sort of saved their lives,' are you nuts?" Graham said "Jocelyn, I get briefings on anything inexplicable inside US boundaries, as well as anything that includes the name of anyone associated with Team Slayer. So when Angel, Faith and Helena are on a plane that its pilots both swear was saved by 'a flying man who was wrestling a rocket,' I get the briefing. Add in that Giles told me, when I called to ask if I needed to be looking into it, that the guy saved your life and helped you get Mi Kyong out of North Korea, and he's got super powers right out of a comic book? Yeah, I'm burning up to meet him!"

"Okay, but I'm not sharing him yet," I said, grinning at him (Graham's gay). "And before you get any ideas about swiping him, I'm pretty sure he's hetero."

"Yeah, well, I'm still monogamous myself," Graham said. "And Thomas should be here soon— he was coming in from Arizona, his niece got married yesterday."

"Good," I said. "I want all my friends around that I can get, right now."

"No blame there," Graham said, looking pained. "But… well, I have something for you, honey— maybe it'll cheer you up a little."

He twisted around and grabbed his duffel bag, opened it, and took out a package, a little bulky and wrapped in plain brown paper, handed it to me. I tore the paper off— and found a dark green jacket, military issue, with a removable liner that would let it work as either a jacket or a full-on coat. On the left chest was my last name, on the right, a round, black patch about four inches across, with a red pentagram almost filling it, and a black M-22-B rifle and silver sword crossed over the pentagram. The words "Supernatural Threat Active Response Teams" ran around the whole thing, and below it was a rectangular tag that read "Civilian Attaché: Combat/Intelligence."

I sat and I gawped at that wonderful jacket— you didn't get one of these until you'd _earned_ it!— until Graham nudged me and handed me a second, smaller package. I opened my mouth to thank him, and he said, "Not yet— open this one, first."

I tore open the second one, found an official START cap, decorated with the unit patch and the words "Civilian Attaché: Combat/Intelligence"— and a laminated ID with my picture, name, vital statistics, and, next to the word "Rank" was the classification "Civilian Attaché, CA-5."

"See ay _five!?"_ I gasped. "But… but that makes me like— like a _lieutenant!"_

"Yes, it does," Graham said, his voice soft and serious. "You see, Giles also had me put out an alert on one Warren Mears, robotic child-murdering _bastard_— and he told me who figured out that it was him we need to be looking for.

"You _earned_ that rank, Attaché Penobscot, as well as the classification of 'combat-slash-intelligence'— and you'll by-god not argue about it, or you'll find out that you aren't so tough that I can't still give you a spanking!"

I didn't argue— I just hugged him really hard and for a long moment.

Then, warm weather and all, I put that jacket on, delighted to find that it fit perfectly. I put on the hat, too, and it fit just as well. Then Mom and Dad were there, hugging me, and then Mi Kyong, then pretty much everybody else.

People babbled congratulations and such for a minute, and I didn't hear the back door open— but I did notice the wave of silence that came a second or two after it did. I was craning my neck, trying to see what had caused it, and the crowd parted in front of me, letting me see Angel, Faith and Colin walking towards us. Angel and Faith had their arms around each other's waists, and Angel was limping some. Faith had a swollen lip, and there was blood on Angel's upper lip, like he'd had a bloody nose that hadn't been totally cleaned up after.

Colin had the beginnings of a black eye, a big bruise along his jaw, was walking a little stiffly— and his eyes were red and puffy, like he'd been crying.

"Oh my god, what happened!?" I cried, running towards Colin with Mi Kyong and the rest of my family on my heels.

We both hugged him, held on, found him trembling a little.

"Well, we three talked for a while, and things got… a little tense," Angel said. "Then things got a lot heated… then we sort of stopped talking and started hitting each other."

"Are you nu—" I started— but Colin put a finger on my lips, shushing me.

He took my hand and smiled, very slowly— and much more fully than I'd ever seen. He kissed me, very long and very gently, then pulled Mi Kyong over and hugged her tightly.

Then took both of my hands in his— and I got a miracle.

"Jocelyn," Colin said, his voice a little higher than I would have expected, and raspy from disuse, "I love you. God, I love you so much!"

He tried to say more, but couldn't— I was trying to kiss him and everyone else was trying to hug him all at once, and that made it pretty much impossible.

(Even if he could have, I'd never have heard him of the shouts and cheers of our family and friends!)

When I could stop myself from kissing him and the cheering had died down, I said, "How?"

"Faith and Angel," Colin said, his voice low and still raspy. "They… they backed me into a corner, made me see that… that what h-happened to me wasn't… wasn't much compared to things they've been through. I tried to make Angel stop after a while, tried to make him leave me alone, but… he wouldn't. And I…." Colin looked very ashamed for a moment, but told us what had happened anyway. "I hit him. And then they both attacked me, and Angel kept telling me the things… the things he has to feel bad about, and how I was being a spoiled brat by shutting myself off, playing the martyred little boy, and he wouldn't shut up, and finally I just yelled 'shut up and leave me be!'

"He did— and they both backed off, stopped fighting me… and I realized what they'd done, what they'd done _for me,_ and… and here we are."

I managed to make myself let go of Colin— and I hit Faith and Angel in a double-hug a half a second later.

I couldn't say anything, I was too busy crying in relief— but they got it, they understood.

"It's cool, Jocelyn," Faith said. "Colin, he just needed a little 'tough love,' and hey, there ain't many better at that than Angel. I learned from him usin' it on me, so… well, we do kind of owe your guy. Still. Don't argue, Colin— you may be tough, but I'm scary."

"I say we're even," Colin said, coming over and shaking Angel's extended hand. "You may think you owe me, but you can't make me collect."

"This kind of argument, nobody wins," Daddy said. "So table it— but Angel, Faith, I'm buying you dinner, soon."

Everyone thanked Angel and Faith and congratulated Colin, and most people hugged Colin, some Angel, a few Faith (who wasn't so big on hugs as most of everyone else). After fifteen minutes or so, I managed to get Colin kind-of-alone, and I put the question he obviously knew was coming.

"Can you tell us yet?" I asked softly. "Can you tell us… what happened?"

"I could," Colin said. "If you… insist, then I w-will. But I'd like to wait, Jocelyn. Just… until after Alex's f-funeral, maybe a day past it.

"I need to— to g-get it out, I know, b-but… I've dealt with it this long and B-Buffy and Xander, they… they should be who people are thinking about, right now."

"God, I love you," I said. "Okay, I'll wait until after. Thank you for thinking about them."

"That's… easy," Colin said. "They… they've been so damned good to me, all of your family has, and… I don't want to— to take the focus off of k-keeping them sane.

"Jocelyn. I love you. I… I hope you don't get tired of hearing that."

"I may," I said, smiling at him. "But not for at least… oh, maybe ninety years."

"Thank you," Colin said. He looked me up and down, reached out and tapped the bill of my START cap. "What's this? And the jacket?"

We sat in the shade of a tree and I told him about START, and about Graham giving me the jacket, and I promised to introduce him to Graham— later.

For right then, we relaxed in the shade and each others' arms… and told each other we loved each other.

Over and over again.


	12. Visitations, Plural

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 12: Visitations, Plural

People left the two of us and our pseudo dragons alone for a while, understanding that we needed to be with each other in light of the miracle that Angel and Faith had pulled off. Oddly enough, we didn't talk much, just sat together and cuddled. Oh, we talked some, sure— but mostly it was enough to know that Colin _could_ talk.

At least, we sat quietly until Buffy, Xander, Willow, Lydia, Giles and Kelly came down to the guest house to join us for supper. Then… well, everyone there was sweet to us. Or to Colin, at least.

We didn't even realize that Buffy and her family had arrived until the six of them came walking over to us, and Buffy said, "Hi, guys. Rose said you all had a sort of a surprise for us— and maybe an explanation of why Angel and Faith look like they've been fighting. And… Colin, that's the leftovers of a shiner you're wearing, wow, you do heal fast.

"Okay, what happened?"

We stood up, and Colin looked at the six of them for a moment, even as Royal relayed a message to me from Colin (via Nightfall). I said, "Well, there was a little bit of a dust up, but no one was hurt bad— and there was one definite positive side effect."

"Okay, what positive side effect?" Buffy said, sounding a little impatient.

"Buffy," Colin said, his voice improved, but still a little raspy. "Xander. I wish— even being able to talk won't let me say how sorry I am about what happened to Alex."

The six of them stared for a long moment— then Buffy hugged Colin fiercely, and Xander hugged them both.

"My god, Angel and Faith did… this?" Giles said, actually smiling a little. "Ever the unexpected depths from those we love."

"Yes," Kelly said, hugging Colin as Buffy and Xander let him go. "You'd think, as often as that sort of unexpected hits us, that we'd stop unexpecting it."

"Dear lord, that's a bit unnerving," Giles said, looking aggrieved. "You mangle the English language… yet make sense while doing so."

"Okay, so Angel and Faith managed to break your block," Buffy said, as Willow and Lydia hugged Colin. "How'd they do it?"

"They showed me that… that the guilt I feel may be real, may be big… but that other people have more reason to feel guilty than I do, and they d-don't let it… don't let it make them s-stop them from going on as best they can," Colin said. He blushed some, and added, "They showed me that I w-was being a baby, and… well. I couldn't make Angel shut up even by hitting him— which made Faith come at me— he wouldn't stop talking, stop telling me what an ass I was being, about the things he did when he was a vampire, about how those things made him feel. I hit him, and he kept talking and hit back, and finally I just… I yelled at him to shut up. He did stop talking then— and I realized what they'd done."

"Go, Angel," Buffy said. "I can't wait to hear what Diane says about this particular treatment."

"Yeah, that should be interesting," Xander agreed. "Or possibly scary."

"It worked," I said. I smiled up at Colin and added, "It worked— so I don't much care whether she yells or not."

We had supper, and Diane did express an opinion of what Angel and Faith had done when Buffy asked her point blank about it.

"Wish I'd thought of it," Diane said. "I'm good at what I do, Buffy, and I'm arrogant because I know I'm good— but I'm not so arrogant that I'm going to argue with results. That way lay not having the world's cutest pseudo dragon attach himself to you as a friend."

"Anyone starting to argue about the relative cuteness of pseudo dragon companions will be given a week's worth of dishwashing duty," Daddy said, even as a dozen mouths opened— and shut immediately after he said that. "It's a purely subjective argument that can't be won, so we simply won't have it."

After dinner, some of the newbies volunteered to clean up, and I went to talk to Thomas Dunlap, Graham's lover and a sweet man in his own right. He was in his fifties, tall, slender, bald as a cue ball, and generally handsome in an academic way. He was the principal of Bloomington High School back home, had been the assistant principal back in Aunt Rose's and Brian Keller's days of attendance there. He'd been involved with Graham for most of my life, and they had one of those relationships that homophobes say homosexual people can't have— stable, faithful, steady, and all of these in enough quantity to withstand Graham having to be gone a lot, by virtue of his career. I think of them every time some 'phobe starts rattling on around me, and of the disappointed look each would give me for pounding the 'phobe into ground meat, and I manage to hold my temper. Usually.

We talked for a bit, I introduced him to Mi Kyong while Daddy and Xander spent a few minutes asking Colin something about security, and to Colin when he finished and came over.

"Thomas Dunlap, high school principal and Graham's lover, meet Colin Goddard, man that I love," I said, carefully not saying much else. Thomas was a big fan of super hero comics, and I wanted to see if he'd recognize Colin's name. "Colin, Thomas is a family friend since about the time I was born."

"It's a pleasure, s-sir," Colin said, shaking Thomas's hand. "Though I really wish the circumstances were different."

"Yes, as do I," Thomas said, frowning just a little. "Still… to see Jocelyn settling down is good— stability is a damned good idea for people in dangerous jobs.

"Colin… are you aware that there's a comic book character out there who shares your name? In fact, you could have been the model for how he was drawn."

"I… I was the model, sir," Colin said. "I'm— I _was_— Starpulse." Colin held up his left hand, set off a low-intensity flash of light (the high-intensity ones could blind someone for quite a while), and said, "I guess… someone here must have had sort of v-visions of my world, my life."

"My god," Thomas said, staring. "That's… the implications are mind-boggling! Even scary! But when coupled with the things that happened during the Battle of Bloomington… well, I have to wonder how many works of fiction are truth in another universe."

"You mean— mean when the people from the Matrix showed up to fight demons?" Colin asked. "And the royal f-family of Amber? And the Jedi knights?"

"And the people from the Dungeons and Dragons style world who showed up at the mall, and let the pseudo dragons come through," Thomas said. "Without them, you'd be short a friend— as would most of us here."

"Yes, they d-definitely did your world— m-my world, now, too— a favor," Colin said. Nightfall, perched on his shoulder, head-bumped his cheek in thanks for the compliment. "I saw your friend with you earlier. Must have gone of to v-visit with his friends from the dragons?"

"Actually, I think he's begging for beef jerky," Thomas said, nodding towards where a group of dragon-less newbies were sitting and feeding beef jerky to as many pseudo dragons as came over. "The new Slayers seem to have discovered the pseudo dragon equivalent of catnip, and the dragons like the girls, so… friends are being made."

Even as Thomas spoke, Royal dropped off of my shoulder to go get a piece of jerky— all the pseudo dragons I've ever met or heard about love it— and a slightly bigger pseudo dragon than normal, colored a dusky green, came flapping over and landed on Thomas's shoulder. He had a piece of beef jerky in his paws, and, after landing on Thomas's shoulder, he looked at Nightfall and Fog and tore off a little piece for each of them. The babies accepted the treat, head-rubbed Thomas's friend in deep gratitude, and began gnawing the jerky with serious attention.

"That was nice of you," Mi Kyong said. "Thank you, on Fog's behalf."

"This," Thomas said as his dragon gave Mi Kyong the mouth-slightly-open expression that is a pseudo dragon grin, "is my friend Ellegon, named for my favorite fictional dragon ever— I think he chose the name because he was jealous of my affection for the character.

"Ellegon, this is Jocelyn's lover, Colin and his pseudo dragon companion, Satellite, and her friend Mi Kyong and pseudo dragon companion, Fog."

Ellegon nodded, grinned at all four— then looked hard at Colin, burbled a curious little sound, and made reading motions.

"Yes, this is Colin Goddard— _that_ Colin Goddard," Thomas said. Colin blinked, and Thomas chuckled at his expression of surprise. "Oh, most pseudo dragons love being read to, Colin, and some have learned to read— awkward for them only because of the sizes of our books. But Ellegon has sat with me as I read a great many comic books, and I read— I _have_— all the issues of your comic. So it's not surprising that he recognized you— the artist was very good, and captured your face accurately."

Then Thomas proved that he was a nice, sweet man, and that he paid attention. He'd noticed the way Colin had said, "I _was_ Starpulse," and seen the look on his face— and he dropped it there, changed the subject.

"Now… I hear that you, young lady, have done something to earn that START hat you're wearing," Thomas said, and flipped the bill with a finger. "Also, every time either of your parents or Giles look at you, there flashes across their features a look of very smug pride.

"Give— what did you do right this time?"

Mi Kyong and Colin— mostly Mi Kyong, but Colin said enough to make it plain that he was proud of me— told him about the things I'd figured out and my chain of reasoning. When they were done, Thomas looked at me with a smile and said, "Now, I'm damned glad I got you started on Laurie King's novels of Sherlock Holmes and Mary Russell-Holmes, Jocelyn. Good work, young lady."

"Thanks, Thomas," I said, and hugged him. "I have to admit, reading those taught me a lot about thinking logically and deductively. So you get some credit, too."

"For sharing a good series of books?" Thomas said. He gave me another smile and said, "Jocelyn, the sharing of a good book is a joy in itself— so no credit will be accepted."

"You just like seeing me blush," I said, and poked him in the ribs. "Beast."

The rest of the evening went… quietly, but well enough. Buffy, Xander, Willow, Dawn, Giles and their various husbands, wives and lovers all went home pretty early… but no one blamed them.

I didn't see Buffy, Xander, Willow or Giles all the next morning and afternoon, though Aunt Dawn came down with the rest of her family for lunch, but they didn't stay long.

Alex's visitation started at six that night, and ran until nine. Daddy told everyone up front, so that there would be no surprises, that Willow had done a spell to restore Alex's body to a presentable state, so that Xander and Buffy could see him and say goodbye without having to see him… well, destroyed. (Alex's face had been _ruined_ by Warren's shot, but the morgue people hadn't let Xander see that when he went to identify the body, bless them— Alex had a distinctive strawberry birthmark, shaped like a flattened artist's palette, on the inside of his right wrist, and they'd shown Xander that over closed circuit TV, and nothing else.)

But Daddy didn't know, or forgot to tell us, that Willow had done the same for Chief, Alex's pseudo dragon friend… and that Chief was being buried with Alex, in-the-coffin with, and was there, too.

We arrived just after six, and Colin, Mi Kyong and I went in first, Mom and Daddy behind us with Stephen, Belinda and Danielle between them. I was dimly aware of a lot of people milling around, and I remember signing the guest register, but only like you remember a dream. After Colin and Mi Kyong had signed, we went in and approached the coffin, waiting only for a few Slayers my age and a little older before we moved up to the coffin ourselves.

Alex lay in the coffin, dressed in his absolute favorite outfit; olive-drab fatigue pants, a black T-shirt with the words "Team Slayer" across the chest in big red letters, and the START cap that Graham had given him for his and Joyce's birthday almost a year before. Chief, looking more alive than Alex did (Willow had done her best [and a fantastic job], but a human body without a soul never looked truly alive), lay curled up on Alex's chest and stomach, and Alex's right hand rested on his best friend's back.

I was a sobbing disaster a half a second after looking into the coffin, clutching Royal against my chest as he, too, wept, his head pressed against the base of my throat, his little body heaving with grief. Colin got me past the coffin, half-carrying me into the arms of the first person in the line of family, Kelly Giles, who wrapped me in the kind of hug that only a grandma can give as Royal climbed up to my shoulder, held me and cried with me for a moment, then passed me to Giles, who folded me in a grandpa-hug, rocked me a little, then steadied me as I moved to Willow, who held me and wept with me for a longer time. Then Aunt Dawn had me in her arms, and I felt the two feathers in her hair near the left side of her jaw, the badges of a full Guardian, tickling my cheek.

Then came the hardest hug of all, the one that hurt the most; Alex's twin sister, Joyce. Small, delicate-looking like her mother, with the same fine features and high cheekbones, but topped by Xander's thick, heavy, dark hair and brown eyes. Joyce, who'd lost her twin, someone so close to her, someone part of a relationship I doubted any not-twin could ever understand, and who was not even thirteen yet.

We'd been friends for years, she and Alex and I, and never mind me being eighteen months older, a Slayer, and living more than eight hundred miles away. Our families always got together on holidays, they'd spend long weekends and part of their summers with Giles and Kelly, and we always hung together, then. They were as much family as friends, and now Joyce was more alone than I knew how to imagine.

She hugged me hard, sobbed harder— and we both dissolved into puddles of tears, each kept upright only by the other, and I didn't move until she let go and grabbed Colin, as much to stay upright as to hug him.

Then Buffy pulled me into her arms, and we cried, and she whispered in my ear, "Jocelyn, no matter what else, remember that you showed us who did this. You made it possible to stop him, Jocelyn, before he manages to hurt someone else, you gave us something to defend against— and for that, I know that Alex would say 'you rule, Slayer!' Only… well, I'm pretty sure he'd sh-shout it."

We both cried a little more, and then I moved to Xander… and got amazed.

This man had lost his son. The son he'd loved, and doted on, and fought not to spoil, and he had to be in terrible, awful pain… and Xander comforted me as best he could, put my pain— awful, horrid, and surely not more than one percent of his own— in front of his.

Is it any wonder that the Guardians of Sh'rin's time, some five thousand years before our own, called Xander Harris "the Heart?" No. No, I can't believe that it is. Nor could I believe that it was any accident that Buffy woke up to the wonder that is Xander not too long after hearing that from Sh'rin's lips.

Xander Harris, in a better world, would be given the happiness he tries to insure for everyone around him.

He held me, and rocked me, and cried with me— and thanked me, as Buffy had, for identifying Alex's killer. Then I was past the line of family, and Natalie Moore, a Slayer born with the power like I had been (and a former lover) was there waiting for me, sobbing and reaching for me, and we wrapped each other in hugs as her father, an ex-SAS sergeant in his fifties and a Watcher, guided us gently to seats along the wall. He then moved to stand nearby with Natalie's mother (a devastatingly gorgeous Caucasian woman who looked like a Nordic ice-queen until she smiled, at which point you saw that she was actually friendly by nature) as Colin and Mi Kyong sat next to us, holding each other's hands.

Once we calmed down, I introduced Natalie to Colin and Mi Kyong, and I was honest all around, introduced her as a former lover, Colin as my current lover, Mi Kyong as my "newest adopted sister."

"It's a pleasure, then," Natalie said. "And… well, a bit of a relief, I think. See, I've been seeing a girl all regular— she couldn't come, her parents weren't keen on her coming to the US for the funeral of a boy she didn't even know and she's not a Slayer, just an incredible singer— and we're a bit on the monogamous side. Since you're being a bit of the same, no one's got to be knackered, then."

We four sat and talked for a while— then all hell broke loose.

I was looking at the line when it happened, saw a middle-aged blond woman moving through the first four of the six family members quickly. She wore a black pantsuit, and a hat with a veil— odd combination, I thought, usually you'd wear a hat-and-veil with a dress, but I didn't think it so odd as to be worth freaking over.

She stopped in front of Buffy, but didn't offer her hand. Instead, she pulled a small stick of some dark wood out of her pocket and broke it. As she broke the stick, some big light poured out of the broken ends and into her… and she glowed for a moment, a weird, unpleasant shade of blue that hurt the eyes.

"Now you begin to understand," the woman said in a voice that dripped with hate, "Now you know what it's like to lose a child, you _bitch!"_

Before anyone could do anything, she punched Buffy in the stomach, sent her flying backwards and into the wall. Buffy didn't go unconscious, but she was obviously hurt, and didn't seem able to get up. Even as the woman backhanded Willow into unconsciousness, I got up and charged her, not thinking, just moving, seeing something to hit, to make hurt at a time when I really needed it, and going.

Xander hit the woman, and she ignored him, didn't even seem to feel it. I leaped, I kicked her— and I hurt my foot (I'd kicked off my shoes before charging her— you do not fight in heels, even low heels, if you can help it).

While I was working to get to my feet, the woman took a little ceramic disk out of her pocket and broke it— and suddenly, she, Buffy, Xander, Dawn, Joyce, Willow (unconscious, still), Giles, Kelly and I were trapped in a force field dome with her, and I could see other Slayers pounding on the force field with everything from bare fists to heavy chairs, all to no avail. I could see Colin firing blast after blast of his own power at the force field, though they had no more effect than did anything else.

"Do you remember my daughter, Buffy?" the woman asked. "Do you remember my Helena? The girl you took into battle and got KILLED? You might remember her, she was missing her left hand?"

"I remember," Buffy said, forcing herself erect. "I remember a girl who wanted to do the right thing. Who wanted to fight, to defend people— to help people!

"What would she think about you doing this, Mrs. Parris? Do you think it would make her happy? Make her proud?

"She'd hate this. This isn't how she'd want you to remember her, how she'd want you to hold onto her memory!"

"You really think I care what you think?" Mrs. Parris snarled. "You really think that?"

"No, but I think you should," she said. She finished getting to her feet— and I took that as my cue. I started to ginga, wishing I had my sword, and Buffy shouted, "Jocelyn, no!"

I didn't listen to her— Buffy would be way cautious right then, I figured, worrying too much, being too cautious.

No. No, I was way, _way_ overconfident.

I hit my rhythm, hopped in spinning, fired off a series of kicks to Mrs. Parris's jaw that would have floored any vampire ever sired. She laughed at me. Buffy tried to hit her, to give me an opening— and she reached back without even looking and slapped Buffy down. I kept going, kept kicking, tried foot-sweeping her— nothing. I might as well have tried to sweep the Statue of Liberty.

She punched me in the chest, a short little jab— and I felt a rib let go, then spots of light burst behind my eyes as I slammed backwards into the force field dome, knocked my head a good one.

"Jocelyn, stay down!" Xander shouted as I tried to get up. "Stay down, dammit!"

I kept trying to push to my feet, angry past all reason, wanting nothing but to knock this bitch for a serious loop.

"Yes, stay down," Mrs. Parris said— and she blurred across the space between us and stomped on my left shin. It broke— and I drew blood as I bit my lip to keep from screaming. "Good girl."

"Now, missy," Mrs. Parris said, turning back to Buffy, "I've knocked out the witch, I've broken a leg on your little ingénue Slayer, here… and I'm going to offer you a choice.

"Either you come over here and you put your neck in my hands for me to snap… or I kill everyone in this little fortress I've created, ending with you— and your little girl will go _first!_

"What's it going to be?"

"None of the above, you _bitch!"_

The voice was cold and furious, it _throbbed_ with power— and it came from Aunt Dawn.

Mrs. Parris turned to look at Aunt Dawn— and stared in shock.

Aunt Dawn floated four or five inches off of the ground, arms down and angled away from her sides. She crackled with tiny bolts of lightning, her long brown hair streamed in an unfelt wind, and she looked scary, intimidating and blindly furious.

"You knocked down _a_ witch, lady," Aunt Dawn said. "Not _the_ witch!"

Mrs. Parris started for Aunt Dawn, but Aunt Dawn threw a bolt of lightning at the woman. It didn't seem to hurt her much, but it did knock her backwards— and it gave Aunt Dawn time for another, more important spell.

Aunt Dawn raised both hands up in front of her, shouted words in a language that I recognized as the one Aunt Sh'rin used and thought in— and suddenly, the Guardian's blade dropped into her hands with a flash of light.

The Guardian's blade, made by Sh'rin's father and imbued with magic by the Guardians, just like the Scythe had been, though the magics were different. Only a Guardian could access all of the magics in the blade— but Aunt Dawn was second only to Aunt Sh'rin in the Guardians, and she knew how to access that power, could, by virtue of thinking like a modern witch, do things that even Aunt Sh'rin couldn't do.

Mrs. Parris started for her again, and Aunt Dawn drew the blade, tossing the wooden sheath aside, raised it— and stared at Mrs. Parris as she advanced.

Aunt Dawn suddenly shifted her stance, went from "ready to kill something" to "ready to defend against something," and most of the anger drained out of her face.

"Oh, shit," Aunt Dawn muttered, "change in plans, here!"

She gestured with one hand, and lightning hit Mrs. Parris again, sent her staggering back against the wall of the force-dome and held her there, as Aunt Dawn looked her over, eyes visibly searching for something. Then she seemed to find it— and she advanced, slowly and carefully, holding the Guardian's Blade in her right hand, her left keeping up the barrage of lightning that held Helena Parris's mother pinned in place.

"Buffy!" Dawn cried. "I need help— _this isn't her fault,_ and I can't do three things at once!"

"Tell me what to do!" Buffy called, moving up to stand beside Aunt Dawn.

"I've got to hold her here and break the spell that's on her," Aunt Dawn said. "It'll rebuild itself _fast_ as long as she's wearing the necklace she has on. I can keep it down for a second, maybe— you'll have to be quick! And you can't hold the necklace, you tear it off of her and you drop it, right away!"

"Say when!" Buffy said shouting to be heard over the crackling of electricity.

"Right… NOW!" Aunt Dawn shouted, and made a complicated, swirling cut with the Guardian's blade, tracing the outline of Mrs. Parris's face but not actually touching her.

As soon as the blade finished its circle, Buffy's hand darted in and snatched the small, ornate necklace that the woman wore off of her and flung it to the ground. Aunt Dawn let the lightning drop, Mrs. Parris dropped to the floor sobbing, and Aunt Dawn dropped to her knees in front of the necklace, chanting rapidly and loudly, tracing a circle around the necklace with the blade, a circle that lit up with brilliant white light and penned in the swirling red… smoky-ooze that poured out of the necklace.

"Okay, ass-hat," Aunt Dawn said to the red stuff, "time to go home— right after we talk about how you got here!"

She muttered another spell while Buffy wrapped Helena Parris's mom in a tight hug, both of them crying hard, and the oozing smoke… well, shrieked.

"THE WITCH!" the stuff screamed, in a voice like the buzzing of angry wasps and nails on a chalkboard all at once. "THE WITCH, THE WITCH, SHE SUMMONED ME, SHE HATES YOU ALL, SHE TRIED TO SUMMON BALAGOR AND THE CHILD STOPPED IT, SO SHE SUMMONED ME, NOT MY FAULT, LET ME LIVE, LET ME STAY!"

"Live, maybe," Aunt Dawn muttered. "Stay here? Not happening!"

Aunt Dawn did a third spell, drawing a second circle around the first as she chanted— and suddenly, the red-oozing-smoke-stuff screamed— and vanished into a tiny black spot that appeared above it.

"Oh, crap, that was work!" Aunt Dawn said, suddenly pouring sweat and breathing hard. "Okay… force field. Let me see…." She held up the Guardian's blade and looked over it at the force field. "Oh. Okay. Easy."

Aunt Dawn got up, moving gracefully despite her obvious exhaustion, and went to where Giles and Kelly were examining Willow, who was sitting up slowly.

"Willow, are you hurt bad?" Aunt Dawn asked.

"Headache," Willow said. "And… split lip. Other than that… just embarrassed."

"Well, I hate to cause you any pain, but . . ." Aunt Dawn reached out and wiped a little bit of blood from Willow's split lip onto her finger, making Willow wince. "Sorry— but your blood— yours _specifically,_ Willow, which worries me— is the key to taking down this force field."

"That's worrying, all right," Willow said ruefully. "I hope there won't have to be any swords involved in getting enough blood…."

"No, this will do," Aunt Dawn said, and went to the closest part of the force field. She drew a single symbol on it with Willow's blood, said something in a language I didn't know— and the force field dropped.

Daddy and Colin were kneeling on either side of me a microsecond later, then Mom and Mi Kyong were beside them.

"Young lady," Daddy said, his voice a weird mix of relieved and pissed off, "what, _exactly,_ did you think you were doing going after an unknown enemy with unknown abilities like that?"

Mom jumped in before I could even begin to answer, said, "And what the high flyin' _hell_ were you thinkin', attackin' her after Buffy said not to!? Then tryin' to do it again after Xander tole you to stay down!?"

"I was thinking that they're hurt and probably being over-cautious," I said. "And Daddy, she hit Buffy, and I… I…."

"You lost your temper, and you did the stupid," Daddy said. He looked at me, saw that I knew it had been stupid, and shook his head. "Honey-girl, if you ever do that again, you'll not go on a solo mission again until you're eighteen. That was damned dumb, Jocelyn, and if it weren't that I know you're hurting and that hurting makes people stupid, you'd be in trouble so deep you'd need a backhoe to get out of it."

"I'm sorry, Daddy," I said, trying not to cry as he checked over my leg. "I… I've wanted to hit something since… since Alex got k-killed and— and that woman, Helena's mom, she— I'm sorry!"

"Well," said a voice from my other side, "I'm going to make you feel a little more sorry, Jossie."

Xander knelt on my other side, looked me in the eye and said, "You heard what Dawn said about it not being Mrs. Parris's fault, right?"

"Yes, sir," I said, looking down.

"So… what would you feel like if she'd just been super-strong and super-fast, Jossie?" Xander asked. "What if she hadn't been super-tough— and you'd killed her, and then found out it wasn't her fault?"

I tried to answer, and couldn't. All that came out was a sob.

"You have to think, Jocelyn," Xander said much more gently. He took my hand in his and said, "You're too powerful to go off half-cocked like that, kiddo. You have to think— and you have to think even when you're hurt. You don't get the excuse of being in pain but the one time, Jocelyn."

I nodded, squeezed his hand— then sat and wept with shame and clung to Mom while Daddy splinted my leg, using first aid materials he had Colin get from the trunk of the rental car we'd come in.

"Rib?" Daddy asked once my leg was splinted.

"Broken," I said, sniffling. "Needs taped."

"I will do this," Aunt Sh'rin said, dropping next to Daddy. "I have the knowledge, and I can do it."

"Okay, and thank you," Daddy said. He stood, helped me up, and I got an arm across Aunt Sh'rin's shoulders. "Jocelyn… we should send you home after this… but if you want to stay, you can."

"I think I… I think I need to, Daddy," I said. "Please."

"Okay," Daddy said. He gave me a hard grin, one that said he was over being mad at me, but that I wasn't out of trouble all the way yet. "When we get home, Jocelyn, you go back into training— and I'm going to work you to the bone. Then I'm going to stuff your head with everything I can find about when to fight and when not to, until you think your head will pop— and then I'll add ten percent more.

"This is never happening again, and _you're_ training until _I'm_ satisfied of that."

"Yes, sir," I said in a small voice, knowing he was right, knowing I'd been a dumbass.

Aunt Sh'rin taped up my ribs, didn't scold me at all, gave me an herbal concoction that would reduce my pain without making my brain fuzzy, and took me back out to the main room, where order had been restored, and Giles's checkbook had soothed the funeral director's freakout over the damage done to the place.

I got seated between Colin and Mi Kyong and hugged by my folks, Xander and his family and— well, practically everyone— and then Mrs. Parris came over stand in front of me.

"Young lady… Jocelyn, isn't it?" she said. "I'm Stacy Parris."

"Jocelyn Penobscot," I said and shook her hand. "Mrs. Parris, I'm so sorry— I could have really hurt you, but… but I miss Alex, a-and I'm sc-scared and I got stupid! I'm sorry!"

"Hush, no harm done," Stacy Parris said. "Except the harm that I came over here to apologize for."

"Not your fault," I said. "I know, Aunt Dawn said already."

"Well… even, then?" she said.

"Okay," I said. I hesitated, but my desire to know overcame any shyness left in me. "Mrs. Parris, where did you get the stuff that let you… do all this?"

"I don't know," she said in frustration. "I don't have any idea. Willow already went into my memory, but it's been… 'magically excised,' she said. So I don't know how I got those things, or who— who aimed me at you folks like a gun."

"Joy," I said with a sigh. "One more enemy— couldn't have been the one we know about, he doesn't do this sort of thing. Just what we need… another enemy, and one we don't know anything about.

"This sucks."


	13. Farewell, My Friend

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 13: Farewell, My Friend

"And the… whatever-that-was," Colin said after Mrs. Parris told us that some unknown enemy had sicced her on us and wiped her memory of how. "The demon, I'm guessing… it s-said that 'the witch' sent it. That wouldn't be Warren— w-would it?"

"No way," I said immediately. "He'd be a warlock to the demon— they know the difference, and it said 'she' sent it.

"Okay… um, Mrs. Parris, forgive me, please, I haven't made introductions. This is Mi Kyong Takeda, newest slayer-best-friend, and this is my boyfriend, Colin Goddard.

"Colin, Mi Kyong, Mrs. Parris is the mother of Helena Parris, who died in the Battle of Bloomington."

"I'm very sorry," Mi Kyong said. "I have read Aunt Rose's account of that time, and I know that your daughter fought well and bravely, did not let her handicap slow her down… but I cannot imagine that is much comfort."

"It's… most days, it's enough," Stacy Parris said. "I… won't lie to you. I still get angry that she died, but I know— I _know_— that she wouldn't have wanted to live if it meant that the Slayers failed to stop that bitch Amy Madison. I'm proud of her for fighting."

"No one decent wants to live at the expense of failure to save others," Colin said, very softly. "I've read Rose's book as well, and I remember… Helena got hurt battling ice demons the night Jocelyn was born— and she insisted that they finish the mission before taking her out to get better medical care than was available on the scene.

"You're right to be proud of her."

"Thank you," Mrs. Parris said. "I just wanted to say I was sorry… I should go now. I don't remember what I told my son about why I was going out, but I should probably check."

She took her leave, and Buffy came over to sit down next to me.

"I'm not going to yell," Buffy said, seeing me sort of brace for it. "Your dad, your mom and Xander did enough of that. I just… Jocelyn, can you make this fit with… with the other things that are going on?"

"No, Buffy," I said, sighing in disgust. "It doesn't fit. I'm sorry."

"Um, forgive me if—if I'm out of line, but… doesn't it?" Colin said, looking puzzled. "I think I see a connection."

"Colin, hold that thought," Buffy said immediately. "Whitey, Giles, Xander, come here, please."

The Watchers Buffy had called came over (Xander taking the time to make sure that Joyce was okay clinging to Aunt Dawn first), and Buffy said, "Colin has a thought about a connection between Mrs. Parris and everything else."

"Tell us, please, Colin," Giles said.

"Well— it may not be connected to Warren, b-but it is connected to things that have h-happened recently, I think," Colin said. "The demon that D-Dawn banished, it said that the witch who summoned it had tried to summon something else, but— but 'the child stopped it.'

"Didn't… didn't Jocelyn stopping a demon from being summoned end up bringing me here instead? Could th-that have been… what it meant?"

We all stared for a moment, then Xander turned to me and said, "Jocelyn, if you let this one get away, you will never live it down! Heck, I'll have Buffy kick your ass if you let him get away!

"Colin— thanks. You're damn near certainly right."

I didn't say anything, I just kissed him.

"All right, add that to the stewpot," Giles said. "I don't think they are connected, but… they may be. After all, a witch powerful enough to augment Stacy Parris that way might well be capable of the divinations that Warren seems to have access to."

Everyone went back to the business of telling Alex Harris goodbye then, but I saw Aunt Sh'rin stop Buffy and speak to her briefly. Buffy looked puzzled, but nodded to whatever Aunt Sh'rin had said, and my aunt-by-friendship walked away smiling just a little. Weird, but not overly weird.

We all left about nine-thirty— the grown ups had to get last minute instructions from the funeral director for the next day, and then there was some talking, more crying, and a lot of hugging.

Instead of going back to the guest house, Daddy followed Buffy and the rest to Buffy and Xander's house, saying that Buffy had asked pretty much everyone to come over for a bit, though she hadn't said why.

Once everyone had arrived, and all of us were sitting around at the picnic tables in the back yard, Aunt Sh'rin walked out into the circle of picnic tables and cast a short spell. A globe of light formed above her head, lighting the clearing neatly, and it followed her as she walked in a slow circle and spoke to us all.

"There are those who would say that what I am about to do is… perhaps ill-timed," Aunt Sh'rin said as she walked. "Your people have a saying from your Christian faith, a part of the burial rites of that faith— 'in the midst of life, we are in death.'

"There is truth to that. Death and life are a part of the natural cycle of the Earth.

"But the reverse is also true. In the midst of mourning the death of one we loved… life continues. Life changes… and even in times of hurt, there may come a thing to celebrate.

"I feel that now is such a moment, and… I hope that you understand, that you share this feeling, that you see the… the good that has happened."

Aunt Sh'rin produced a small knife apparently from nowhere (she's a damn good magician— it may have _been_ from nowhere, for all I know), and turned to face the table where her family-by-marriage (might not have been legal, but they were all married) sat, and said, "Elaine, Rose… Dawn. My loves, you will remember the night I came to your now, and the things I told you— of the names my teachers, the Guardians, had for you and yours. And I told you that I would teach Dawn, make of her a Guardian… and that one day, she would pass me in knowing and in fighting… and on that day, the blade of the Guardians would pass to her, become hers, her badge of office as Chief of the Guardians.

"That day is here. It is now."

Aunt Sh'rin reached up with the knife in her hand and cut the single narrow braid in the right side of her hair, the one that held a single brown-gold-white feather from the wing of a golden eagle, and said softly, "I never told you Dawn, for I knew that your… modesty would forbid you from using it, but the spell that you used to summon the Guardian's blade to you tonight… it will not work for any save she who leads us. I have known for some time that you were ready… but that you would not accept the promotion without proof. When I knew you to be ready, I taught you the spell.

"Tonight… you called. The blade came.

"You are now the Chief of the Guardians, and as I said that long-ago day… I am proud, for no teacher can hope for more than to have the student pass them.

"Come here, my love."

Aunt Dawn, blushing brightly but smiling, really _smiling,_ for the first time since Alex died, came and stood next to Aunt Sh'rin, who had removed the braid of her hair from around the feather while she spoke of Aunt Dawn's accomplishment. She cut of a length of Aunt Dawn's hair so that the feather would hang at the right height, made a thin braid of the shortened bit… and wove the badge of the Chief of the Guardians into Aunt Dawn's hair swiftly and easily.

"What was meant to be… now is," Aunt Sh'rin said. "Congratulations, my love!"

Then she kissed the ever-loving heck out of Aunt Dawn, who gave back as good as she got— and we all whooped and cheered and applauded, and everybody tried to hug her and kiss her at once.

Xander waited his turn more patiently than others, and after he gave Aunt Dawn a hug that went on for quite a while, he pulled back a little and said, "I've been saying it since early in 2003, Dawn… but this rates saying it again.

"Extraordinary!"

She hugged him again, held on for a long time— and Buffy just smiled at them.

I didn't have a crutch yet, so I hadn't gotten up to go hug Aunt Dawn— but she came to me once the press of bodies allowed it, and Colin helped me up so I could hug her (after he and Mi Kyong had both hugged her).

"Congratulations, Aunt Dawn," I said. "You deserve it. You keep coming up with funky new spell combinations, and you can actually hold your own against Aunt Rose with a sword way longer than anyone else— Aunt Sh'rin's right, you deserve this."

"I guess I can't argue with the Guardians' magic," Aunt Dawn said, smiling a little nervously. "Low-down trick, that, and I'll make her pay, later— I know all her ticklish spots!"

"You sure you haven't turned evil?" I asked jokingly. "I mean… tickling!"

"Oh, I'm sure," Aunt Dawn said, grinning at me. "You should be sure, too— after all, I haven't told Colin about _your_ ticklish spots, have I?"

"Uh, no," I said. I thought for a second and added, "No, ma'am, you haven't. You're very nice that way, um… Saint Aunt Dawn. Yes, Saint Aunt Dawn would never betray me that way."

"Okay, that's better," Aunt Dawn said. She hugged me once more, then said, "Honey… I'm half-passed-out— that demon-containment-and-banishment was a toughie. I'm going to let my family help me get clean and then Ballard has promised me a back rub."

"Okay, that's reasonable," I said. "Good night, Aunt Dawn."

We went back to the guest house, everyone a weird mixture of sad and happy, hurt and pleased. Daddy found me a crutch to use until my leg healed, re-splinted it with metal braces instead of the plastic he'd originally used… and was sweet enough to not lecture me any more than he already had.

"Compound break and all, four days, it'll be fine, the way you Slayers heal," Daddy said. "No workouts in that time, and no fighting unless it's do-or-die, honey-girl."

"Yes, Daddy," I said. I hesitated a long moment, then said, "Daddy? Could you… the day after we got here, when Buffy came over? She showed me that I was letting the Capoeira give me a bad habit of letting my center float even when I wasn't doing Capoeira. She worked with me on fixing it, and I _think_ it took… but when I go back into training, could you watch for that especially? Make sure I don't slip back into it?"

Daddy took that as the peace offering it was, the further admission that I'd been a dumbass, and gave me one of the smiles that made him _Daddy_. "You bet, honey-girl. We'll get you squared away.

"I'll send Colin along to carry you upstairs— you're too tired to think about crutching your way up— close your mouth, if you argue, I'll embarrass you silly, and have Mi Kyong do it— she's so tiny we'd all laugh ourselves silly."

"Yes, Daddy," I said. "Thanks for fixing me up."

"That's my job," Daddy said cheerfully. "Night, Jocelyn."

"Good night."

Colin came in a minute later and carried me upstairs. He again cuddled me that night, but it probably looked sort of odd. He snuggled up— from the waist up. From the waist down his legs were thrown as far away from my injured leg as possible.

At breakfast, Mom saw that I wasn't eating well, and… well, she mommed me.

"Sweetie, I know you're upset, an' maybe not terrible hungry," Mom said, her voice gentle. "But you got yourself a busted leg— an' that means you _have_ to eat. Slayers heal like nobody's business, but you got to give the body fuel to heal with."

"I'll try," I said miserably. "I'll try."

I ate enough that Mom cut me some slack— but she did make me drink a couple of extra big glasses of milk for the calcium, and pop some calcium supplement pills.

"Good enough," Mom said after I finished my third glass of milk. "Thank you, honey. An'… well, for lunch, whatever you have, it should have cheese. An' you should drink more milk."

"Yes, Mom," I said. "Just… no calling me Bessie if I turn into a cow."

"Never happen," Mom said, giving the lame attempt at a joke a bigger smile than it rated (it rated a wince, let's be honest) because I was trying. "Now, Jossie, maybe…."

I watched the newbies train lightly that morning, sitting with Royal under a shade tree, him draped around my neck and making the burbling-cooing noise of pseudo dragon singing to make me feel better.

We ate a light and early lunch, and I had a grilled cheese _a la_ Mom, who made a grilled cheese like no other; four kinds of cheese (Gouda, Swiss, pepperjack and sharp cheddar), four big strips of bacon and olive oil instead of butter for the bread— a personal favorite. Mom didn't ask me to eat more than one, just made this one with thicker slices of cheese than usual, and kept the milk flowing.

Mi Kyong helped me dress for the funeral in a dress that was a gray _just_ this side of black. Her own dress was black, and Colin wore a dark gray summer-weight suit.

We all piled into the vehicles and rode to the funeral home, and we started the process of saying goodbye to my friend.

Promptly at one, Giles went to the podium at the front of the room and started speaking. He spoke of Alex honestly, a very physical boy, who, while he enjoyed learning, preferred the physical to the cerebral, would rather _do_ than watch or read about, who had an exuberant approach towards life and all its aspects. He talked about Chief, and how the little guy had, on more than one occasion, protected Alex from a child's foolishness, and even from monsters, on the two occasions when monsters had gotten close to Buffy's children. Giles didn't fall apart while talking about Alex and his best friend… but a couple of times it seemed like he was really, really close.

Graham got up after that, and he spoke about the Alex who had first come to him at the age of four and asked what he'd have to do to be able to join START when he grew up. He told how he'd made sure that Alex understood that START wasn't just about fighting, that you had to learn a lot of things about the supernatural, about diplomacy, about when to fight and when to make a deal. He talked about how Alex had listened, and done all he could to put himself on the right path, so that he could, in Alex's own words, "get into the family business of saving the world."

Then… then came Buffy. She didn't talk about Alex's killer and the havoc that would surely be wreaked on that miserable son of a bitch. She didn't acknowledge his existence at all— and I knew that, if Warren was listening somehow, that would infuriate him beyond all reason. For that insight alone, I resolved for the hundredth time to someday be as much like Buffy as I could.

Buffy talked about Alex. About the boy who, while he was brave and bright and good, was also sometimes annoying, stubborn to the point of stupidity ("a trait he got from me," she admitted), and could get into trouble sometimes without even trying. She talked about gifts he'd given her, about the way he'd stood up for his sister at every need (and sometimes at imagined need), taken pride in his parents and their habit of saving the world, and learned everything that he could to give him a chance of someday being able to help them in that job.

"That was my son," Buffy finished, her voice finally breaking. "That was Alexander Liam Harris. He loved us, and we loved him… and we will never, _ever_ forget him!"

She went and sat down with Xander, then, and those two and Joyce huddled together and wept for a long moment, while people filed out, except for those who would be pallbearers. That awful job fell to Xander, Giles, Vincent, Ballard, Graham and Angel.

The service in the funeral home had been standing room only… and the graveside service was even bigger. You'd have thought it was a funeral of state, so many people came. More than fifteen hundred Slayers, over six hundred Watchers, a like number of Guardians, some two hundred people from START, people from the NYPD, friends of Alex, friends of the family… it was freaking huge.

As soon as we were all in the car, Royal sent to me, *_Jocelyn, when we arrive at the cemetery, I must leave you for a while— all of us must, until it is over. We… we will honor Alex and Chief in our own way, as we have always done for those we love and lose. Will you be all right?_*

"Yes, of course, Royal," I said. "I have Colin, Mi Kyong, my family… I'll be all right. But… come back as soon as you can?"

_*I will, I promise,*_ Royal sent. _*We all will._*

When we reached the cemetery, Royal, Phantom, Tracer, Moonlight, Midnight, Acetylene (my brother Stephen's dragon friend), Muppet (my sister Danielle's dragon) and even Fog and Nightfall all flew off to sit on the branches of surrounding trees, or on the ground with all of the other pseudo dragons in attendance. Given that all but a very, very few of the attendees had pseudo dragon friends (all but about three dozen people had a pseudo dragon friend), the sight was a little bit staggering. Not one of them perched on a tombstone or mausoleum… but they went anywhere else that they could.

Once everyone in the family had been seated, the pseudo dragons performed their own version of a memorial to our lost— and it was a sight I will never, ever forget.

Before anyone even rose to speak— Xander was going to speak here and Joyce was going to sing— the dragons took flight.

First came the dragons belonging to Joyce, Buffy, Xander, Giles, Kelly, Aunt Dawn, Willow, Lydia, Uncle Ballard, Aunt Rose, Aunt Elaine and Aunt Sh'rin, flying a clockwise circle some twenty feet above the ground, with maybe a foot separating the tail of one from the nose of the next. Ten feet above them, my family's pseudo dragons and those of Uncle Ballard's children, flying counter-clockwise. Ten feet above those, Colin and Mi Kyong's pseudo dragons, along with Graham's Neon, Thomas's Ellegon, Brian Keller's Tesla, and others of people who had known Alex well and loved him dearly, flying clockwise.

The circles went up more than two hundred feet, each flying the opposite direction of the one below it, a huge, magnificent, beautiful, flying, rainbow column of living, breathing miracles. It took my breath away, left me in tears of mixed pain at the loss that had inspired this memorial, and joy at the pure beauty of the thing.

Xander stared for a long moment before he started to speak, and I found myself amazed at how steady his voice sounded, given the tears that poured down his face the whole time he spoke. Like Buffy, he spoke honestly, of his love for his son, of Alex's virtues and his faults both.

When Xander sat down, Joyce stood up, took two steps forward… and sang. She didn't go to the mike, and truly, she didn't need to. The pseudo dragons were "flying quiet," barely making any noise at all (possible while going slow, not while making any real speed), and while some people were sobbing (me included), no one was wailing.

"This… this was Alex's favorite song ever," Joyce said in a low voice. "It's kind of old— we weren't even born when it came out. Maybe it's not… not something you'd normally hear at a funeral— b-but it was his f-favorite!"

You know how there are songs that sound just fine done to music or _a cappella,_ and songs originally performed by a guy that still sound good when performed by a girl? Well, what she sang really shouldn't have been either one; Ordinary, by Train, should have required the music, and should've needed to be sung by a guy.

Not that day. Not from Joyce Harris, who sang it for her brother, because he had loved it and she loved him. It took my breath away. She'd always had a good voice— that day, her voice made magic.

The last notes faded away— and even as we all stared, amazed by what Joyce had done, she turned and flung herself in her parents arms, sobbing hard and harsh… and we didn't applaud, though god knows her delivery deserved it. It just… felt wrong, the idea of applauding.

As she sat down, Aunt Sh'rin, whose beliefs were as close as anyone in the family's to organized religion, stood, went to the mound of earth beside the open grave, and took a handful.

"Of four are we born, and to four we return," she said, her voice carrying well. She threw the earth in the grave, picked up a wooden bowl of water and poured it in after. "Earth and Water for the body. Fire and Air for the spirit. To each return, and wait for those who love you." She gestured, and a wind blew through the crowd, gathered itself in a brief, brilliant column of fire above the open grave. "As it begins, it ends… only to begin again.

"Rest well, my dear ones… and know that we love you both."

The huge, counter-circling column of pseudo dragons broke then, slowly, from the top down, the dragons returning to their chosen companions as they left the circle. When Royal dropped into my arms, he was weeping as hard as I was (Giles says that reptiles don't weep— and that because pseudo dragons do, he'd have known that they were intelligent, even if they couldn't talk to us), and I cuddled him and remained seated until Daddy spoke to me, said softly, "Time to go, honey."

I nodded, stood, and let Daddy steady me as we went back to the vehicle to go back to Buffy and Xander's house for a small, invitation-only wake-like thing.

But before we left, we walked by the tombstone, completed already by virtue of laser cutting and a lot of money, and I looked at it and knew that Willow had taken a hand in things.

A simple gray-white stone, it read "Alexander Liam Harris, beloved son, brother and friend, 2005— 2018, and his best friend, Chief, who stood with him to the end, 2009— 2018. Much are they missed."

And on the top of it, a hologram of them both, Alex grinning his crooked grin (so much like Xander's), Chief around his neck with his head lifted to grin pseudo-dragon-style along with him. That had to have been Willow's touch, and I loved her for it.

We went to Xander and Buffy's house, and as soon as we got there, I found Joyce, grabbed her and hugged her as hard as I dared, not caring that I dropped my crutch, not caring that we both were sobbing like babies, just needing to say to her that what she'd done for Alex had been gorgeous, and not being able to say it with words.

We hugged for a while, and cried for a while, then I let Colin hand me my crutch and I went off to hug and cry on… well, pretty much everybody, before it was over. Colin, Mi Kyong or my "real" sister Belinda were always there for me to lean on, often all three of them.

There was a pick-up supper, taken from the dishes that friends inevitably bring, and a lot of talking, and Buffy announced that the donations to the Make a Wish Foundation, a charity that Alex had, inadvertently, chosen himself by working for it every time something came up that accepted volunteers (at eight, Alex had lost his then-best friend to leukemia, and Make a Wish had done a lot for the boy before he died, causing Alex to actually make an effort to do volunteer work for them), donations made in lieu of flowers at the family's request, had come to over a million dollars. We all talked, remembered Alex Harris, made each other laugh, made each other cry, made each other do both at once— and something incredible happened.

Joyce Harris had been very, very grumpy for a day or two not long after the Scythe had done its yearly activation. For some reason, probably due to Buffy and Xander's preference for hormone-free food, Joyce hadn't started menstruating as early as some of the other girls in the family; in fact, she'd started menstruating three days _after_ that year's Activation Day, and she'd been really annoyed that she'd have to wait a year almost to find out if she would be Chosen.

About nine o'clock, after everyone had done their reminiscing, and things had gotten quiet, all of us Slayers sat up straight as we felt a surge of… something. We all heard the metallic shrilling of the Scythe, that almost-voice that only we could understand, heard it in our heads, calling for Buffy to fetch it, to bring it out. (Willow, thanks to her being the one who'd activated it, heard it, too.)

"What is it?" Giles, Kelly, Xander, Daddy and Ballard said, almost in unison, as we Slayers went silent and wide-eyed.

"The… the Scythe," Buffy said. "It wants… out. Wants me to get it out."

"Yeah, it sure does," Mom said softly. "I think you could even say it's demandin' to be got out."

"Yes," Mi Kyong, Faith and I said in perfect unison.

"I'll go with you," Xander said as Buffy started for the big safe in their basement where she kept the scythe. She took his hand and they went to the basement. A couple of minutes or so later, they came back, still hand-in-hand, and Buffy had the metal case for the Scythe in her free hand.

Buffy set the case down on the living room floor, opened it— and the Scythe shrilled more loudly. It didn't sound urgent, exactly… but it did sound determined, and everybody there— not just the Slayers, everybody— heard the words that came from it as words, though not with our ears, or even quite telepathically, like with the pseudo dragons. This went deeper than that, like the Scythe spoke in words our _souls_ could hear.

_~Not for anger's sake,~_ the Scythe said. _~Not for revenge. This we do to prevent more loss, to protect… to make more safe one who is in danger, and that those who have lost much may perhaps not lose more._

_~This we do to protect. We do it now rather than wait— but know that it truly would have been done next summer-eve, if we did not do it now. For you are well-Chosen, daughter of the Prime, daughter of the Heart. Truly Chosen for your courage, your love, your desire to do that which we empower Slayers to do… to protect, to defend, to stand._

_~Use well what we grant you, Joyce Harris… and use it wisely.~_

The Scythe pulsed with it's own brilliant white light, as it did every year on Activation Day— And Joyce Harris gasped aloud, shuddered once… and said, so softly it could barely be heard over the quieting shrill of the Scythe, "Thank you. I'll… I'll try to be wise."

Just like that, the light of the Scythe went out… and Joyce said, very quietly, "Mom, Dad… when can I start training?"

They didn't answer. Instead, they both hugged Joyce, and held her, and cried with her.

"You… you heard what the Scythe said, right, kiddo?" Xander said when he could speak. "This isn't so you can go after Warren. It's so you'll maybe be safe from him. You understand?"

"I do, Dad, I swear I do," Joyce said. "I think… I think it meant that Warren will try to hurt me, too, and that's why it gave me the power _now,_ instead of next Activation Day.

"I'll be careful, Dad, Mom— I won't fight him, not if there's a way to run away— but now at least— at least I'll be able to run _really_ fast!"

Buffy and Xander laughed and nodded— and hugged Joyce again.

"You can start training with me tomorrow morning," Buffy said. "And… oh, hell. Xander?"

"Yeah," Xander said, taking a deep breath. "Yeah, this locks it down."

"You or me?" Buffy asked him.

"I'll do it," Xander said. He took a deep breath, turned to Giles and said, "Giles, I'm not quitting the Council— but effective immediately, I'm resigning as head of the New York branch of Team Slayer. If my recommendation carries any weight, I think you should give the HQ here to Mike Havel— he's damned good, really conscientious, and thinks tactically about what to have for freaking _supper_.

"In the meantime… Giles, can we stay with you and Kelly and Ballard and company just until we can get a house built across the street from you?

"Buffy and I were talking about this anyway, since… since Alex was killed. Now that Joyce is a Slayer, and very probably in danger from Warren, we want her surrounded by the very best, trained by them— and that means living in Normal again."

Giles didn't hesitate for so much as a second.

"Yes, of course," he said, nodding. "I must also thank you— I was thinking I'd have to argue with you when I asked you to move home. You've saved me the trouble, I'm quite grateful."

Buffy sputtered laughter, quiet, still-weepy laughter, but _laughter,_ and said, "I should have known. Thank you, Giles."

"You are always welcome to come home, Buffy," Giles said. "All of you are welcome to live under my roof for the rest of our lives, if you don't want to worry about building a house of your own."

"Well, we'll take the offer until we get a place built," Xander said. "I've always wanted a house I designed, Giles— too big a temptation to resist."

"Yes, I understand," Giles said. "All right… well, we'll all be here through the weekend… I suppose that a bevy of Slayers, Watchers and Guardians can surely get you all packed by Monday, and I shall simply throw money at a respectable moving company to get your things brought out quickly. We'll store them in the not-in-use dorm until your house is built, then move it all in.

"Tell me, what sort of design were you thinking of…?"

I sat between Colin and Belinda, Mi Kyong on Belle's other side, and listened to Giles and Xander discuss house design while Buffy sat down and pulled Joyce into her lap and cuddled her, not saying anything, not needing to, as she and her daughter sat and basked in the power that the Scythe had seen fit to give Joyce a year early, just to protect her.

I sat and I watched as my family grew a little closer together— and I fell asleep watching.


	14. And the Sentinel Stars…

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 14: And the Sentinel Stars….

I woke up the next morning with my head on Daddy's shoulder and Mom spooned up behind me. Gwendolyn lay on Daddy's other side, her head on Daddy's other shoulder, and fortunately for the sake of the high embarrassment potential, everybody had on clothes— even Mom, the perennial nudist. Daddy had on sweatpants, Mom, Gwen and I all running shorts and t-shirts.

"Hey, sweetie," Mom whispered. "Sorry we ain't your usual company, but things felt… really all family-fixated, last night. Colin said he didn't mind, so… we daughter-napped you."

"I don't mind, Mom," I said, squeezing her hand where it rested on Daddy's stomach. "Right now… feels really nice. But… wow, I haven't slept with you guys since I was… ten?"

"Just barely ten, yeah," Mom said. She rolled her hand over and laced her fingers through mine. "That was the night that shithead vampire from Oregon— Arminger, Norman Arminger, that was his name— figured out how to get into the house while most of Team Slayer was out. You did him in good, honey— proud of you for that one still, you saved all the kids— and freaked out pretty good afterwards. No blame on you needin' to sleep with me an' your Daddy that night.

"Last night… we all needed it."

"You got that right," I said, and squeezed her hand again. "Daddy must have been really careful about carrying me, I never woke up at all between Buffy's and here."

"He was," Mom said. "I drove, even, so he'd run a lower risk of wakin' you."

"Neat, thank you," I said. "I'm just gonna lay here a bit— no hurry to get up, is there?"

"None at all."

"Good."

I fell back asleep a couple of minutes later, woke up to Daddy chuckling and trying to smother it.

"What's so funny?" I asked.

"You and Royal," Daddy said, still speaking quietly, but not trying to not laugh anymore. "That's damned cute, honey-girl."

Now that he mentioned it, my shirt was fitting oddly. I moved my eyes to look down— and giggled myself.

I was on my right side, my head on Daddy's shoulder, one hand on his stomach, Mom's hand laced there with mine, Gwendolyn's hand covering both of ours. My shirt, though, was billowed and stretched out, because Royal had climbed inside it from the bottom sometime after I fell asleep the second time, and his head and neck were thrust out of the neck of my shirt, along my neck, and I could feel his slow, regular breath on my earlobe. It must've been cute as hell from outside.

A few seconds later, I found out that I'd get to see it— my sister Belinda came in with a digital camera and took pictures from several angles.

_*How is a dragon supposed to get his napping in with all those annoying flashes of light?*_ Royal sent after Belinda has snapped the last one.

"It's your own fault," I said without sympathy. "You're the one who decided to do the cutesy thing, here."

_*It,*_ Royal sent with careful dignity, *_was_ warm, _Jocelyn!_*

"Ah, of course," Daddy said. "I swear, your entire breed would side with the bad guys, if they were warmer blooded than us."

_*Don't be ridiculous,*_ Royal sent. _*You are warm— but more importantly, you are good. If you were cooler, we probably wouldn't sleep on top of you and nestled to you as much— but still we would join ourselves to you._*

"High praise indeed," Daddy said. "Okay, somebody's going to have to move, ladies— I am feeling a definite pressure about my bladder."

"I'll be movin', then, Whitey," Gwendolyn said. "I'd not disturb that pose with your girl an' her scaly friend for all the mist in Wales."

Gwendolyn got up, kissed Dad, then lay back down after he went to the bathroom. She snuggled up to me— nice, warm and friendly, not sexy (Gwendolyn's an absolute babe, but she's _Mom and Dad's girlfriend,_ so sexual thoughts about her would feel… _incestuous_), and Royal burbled his approval of another source of warmth, then went back to sleep.

Daddy came back out, went around and kissed Mom good morning, kissed my cheek, and said, "I'm going to start breakfast. Don't laze about too long, or you'll go hungry."

We laid there another ten minutes, then we got up, and I carried Royal, still asleep, inside my shirt— tricky, while walking with a crutch, but I pulled it off, got him out on a chair near the bed in my room without waking him— as I went to my own room to get showered and dressed. Colin was in the shower already, came out just as Mom finished helping me get my foot in a plastic bag so that the elastic-bandage-and-splint arrangement protecting my broken leg wouldn't get wet. He kissed me good morning, said hello, and went downstairs with Nightfall on his shoulder.

The day went mostly quiet. Colin said very little, and I knew it was because he was contemplating telling us what had happened to him at some point that day, as he'd promised. I let him be as quiet as he needed, though it took an effort. After the enforced silence, his quiet kind of made me nervous.

We spent most of the day working on packing up Buffy and Xander's house, preparing them to move to Normal with us— but when we arrived, we found Xander and Buffy working with Joyce, training her in the basics of fighting as a Slayer (she'd had rudimentary martial arts classes for a couple of years now, but it's different when you're a Slayer and can access so much power).

Joyce… I could see that she was working hard, and I felt very glad— if the Scythe, or the Guardians, or whoever, thought she was in danger, then seeing her taking it seriously… yeah. An all-around good thing.

After supper… Colin looked around at all of us, and spoke to Diane. She spoke to Giles, and shortly, Andrew and his Slayers from Europe took all the newbies but Mi Kyong, Autumn and Joyce off to see a play before going to the hotel and bed. Giles spoke to others, and they left, and pretty soon, Giles had reduced things to my family, his family, Vincent, Vi and their girls, Willow, Lydia and little Elise, Angel, Faith and Helena, Uncle Ballard and his family, Buffy, Xander and Joyce, Diane Hodges, and Sara and Chelsea, whom Colin had taken a strong liking to.

"Perhaps… Beth, would you take all those your age and younger inside, please?" Giles said to Vincent and Vi's older daughter. "You may all watch a movie, or play games… but this is going to be the sort of tale that might hurt or upset some of the younger ones, and we'd rather not do that to you."

The younger kids went, grumbling but going, knowing better than to argue. That left Autumn Innes, a week from turning twelve, the youngest person out there, and she had a right to be there by our rules, being a Slayer.

"Thank you, Giles," Colin said. He squeezed me and kissed me chastely, and moved to sit on a picnic table facing the rest of us. "I… it's time to t-tell you all… what I did. What I f-failed to do.

"I… I'm scared. So please, let me just… d-d-do this at my own speed."

"Colin, you don't need to tell us all," Kelly said, almost perfectly in synch with Diane.

"But I do," Colin said. "You all have— have been there. F-for me, I mean. Maybe j-just in l-little ways, but… you've all been there f-for me, tried t-to help.

"I don't know if I'll be able to d-do this m-m-more than once, so… so you all have to hear."

Colin looked down at the ground for a long moment, then lifted his head and said, "I'm sorry. Sorry if… well, if anyone decides n-n-not to stay I w-won't be upset. I… I'd understand."

"Tell us," Angel said. "Tell us, Colin.

"Please."

He did— and I understood his horror when he was through.

_Interlude: Another Earth, seventeenth of May 2018_

Starpulse soared over the Colorado Rockies on his way back to Chicago from LA, and slowed some as he always did, appreciating the view, even at night. He grinned, thinking back on the expression on the face of the villain who called himself Black Angel when the man had realized that White Mongoose, LA's resident super-speed heroine, had called for backup who could fly. Given that Black Angel could only fly at about a hundred and fifty miles per hour (winged flight— pretty, but never all that fast), and that Starpulse could do something close to a hundred and seventy _times_ that speed… well, the look on the crook's face had been priceless.

He arrived back over Chicago not too long after that, and his eyes went to the tops of several nearby buildings, checking the simple alert system his father had come up with. Starpulse had friends that he trusted to keep him alerted to trouble, and each of them had access to the alert system, which was nothing but mounted twin-spotlights on the top of the dozen or so highest buildings in the Chicago area, each light with several different color bulbs in it that could be lit individually. The first light told Starpulse the level of a threat, the second told him how many people were threatened.

_Oh, shit!_ he thought as his eyes found the closest beacon. _Red-yellow, gotta grab the phone!_

Red meant that lives were directly and immediately threatened— and yellow indicated a number less than a hundred thousand, but over fifty thousand.

Each of the spotlight sets also had an untraceable cell phone mounted in a weather-proof box below it. Colin went to the nearest box at a speed just below that of sound, and called the number that had called it last, that being the number of whichever of his friends had set off the alert.

"Starpulse, thank god!" said a friendly FBI agent. "Listen, we've got an alien spacecraft about three hundred yards long and half that wide sitting over Homestead-Miami Speedway in Florida, projecting a force field over the place that we can't breach, and they've broadcast over some serious loudspeakers that if you don't get there and hand yourself over to the aliens in the next… hundred and ten minutes, that they'll kill all sixty-odd _thousand_ people in there!"

"Oh, shit— aliens!?" Colin said. "Are you— no, sorry. Call down there, tell the local authorities I'll be there in ten minutes or less."

"Will do, go!"

Starpulse dimmed his glow and flew to the small apartment he rented near his college, and took the usual "serious threat" precautions, setting his computer to email his last will and testament to his mother, then wipe itself clean and melt its own hard drive if he wasn't back in… he decided on twenty-four hours, since he had no idea what he was dealing with.

He gulped down a half a quart of orange juice, then flew out his window, staying dim until he got up to a mile, then letting out the glow of his power and accelerating up hard, letting the sonic boom happen, since his mass wasn't high enough to make it destructive at that height.

In less than the promised ten minutes he landed next to an FBI agent some three hundred yards away from Homestead-Miami Speedway and said, "Okay, what the hell's going on?"

"Thank god you're here," the agent said. "Come with me, sir, I'll take you to SAIC Dixon."

Special Agent In Charge Michael Dixon of the FBI's Miami offices was fifty, small, wiry, and had a force of personality that made even Starpulse, who regularly met and worked with bona fide super heroes, square his shoulders and listen attentively.

"They showed up about twenty-five minutes ago," Dixon said, waving up at the blunted-arrowhead shape of the alien vessel, glittering in moonlight and searchlights. "Just appeared in orbit some thirty thousand miles up, made a transit into close orbit in about two minutes, through the atmosphere and to the place it's sitting now in another five, immediately deployed a force field that's keeping everyone inside. Military jets approached, spouting warnings to clear the airspace— and they shot each and every one of the six fighters down. Instant and total destruction of the planes, pilots never had a chance to eject.

"Next wave fired some serious missiles from a couple of miles off— President's orders, she says that driving this thing off is worth the lives of those who'd be killed."

"Idiot," Starpulse muttered. "She's nuts— blowing up something like this could very well result in taking out, oh, I don't know— Florida!"

"I'll never _admit_ to agreeing with you," Dixon said. "Anyway… they then broadcast that statement about wanting you to come here. And… Starpulse, they then used a sort of a… a beam-thing, and they _disintegrated_ everything in the pit area. Everything. Cars, tools, fuel tankers… and people. Maybe four hundred people."

"Those bastards!" Starpulse said. He shook himself, trying to control a desire to just fly up and see what he could do about blowing a hole in the alien craft. "Why the hell did they— what reason could they have?"

"We've got people in there sending out video via their cell phones," Dixon said. He indicated a laptop computer, pressed a couple of keys. "This is what they sent us after… after the aliens did it."

The screen of the laptop showed that the pit area of the Homestead-Miami Speedway had been blasted down to clean concrete. No blood, no oil stains, no remnant of trash decorated the clean oval of the pit area. All that could be seen besides the concrete was a single rectangular block of some dull metal, about ninety feet long, half that wide, and four feet high. On one end of the rectangle sat a big metal chair, wider and taller than a human could be comfortable in, with a seat that didn't go all the way to the back of the chair, and a back that didn't come but halfway down to seat level.

In the chair sat a creature whose physiology explained the odd construction of the chair; it had been built as it was to allow for the thing's thick, heavy, scaly tail, which lay on the floor of the impromptu stage, twitching slightly. The rest of the creature… well, it seemed to be built along more ape-like lines than reptilian, with knees that bent as a human's did, massive, oddly long arms with an extra elbow-like joint, and a very reptilian face, elongated and muzzle-like, with widely spaced eyes that seemed able to rotate independently, so it could look in two directions at once. The creature had scales over every visible inch of its body, ranging from dark green around the lips and eyes, and the ends of its three fingers and thumb, to an absolutely eye-searing shade of green over the rest of the visible parts of its body. The thing wore only a form-fitting bodysuit that had neither arms nor legs to it, in a metallic-looking orange, and a belt studded with devices and buttons, many of the devices looking to be weapons.

"They beamed the area clear, lowered that platform-stage thing slowly— some sort of magnetic beam, maybe— then lowered the chair the same way. The alien just… beamed in, like something out of a Star Trek show, and sat down." Dixon shook his head. "It's Miami— some folks in the crowd have— _had_— guns. They shot at him, which, given the range, was pretty damned stupid. Shots hit a secondary force field, apparently invisible, around the platform, did no good. Beams from the ship killed every shooter."

"Miserable— dammit!" Starpulse said. He shook himself, looked at Dixon, said, "What did they say, exactly? About me, I mean?"

Dixon touched a button on the laptop and a vibrating, gravelly voice came from its speakers.

"We require the superior human being Starpulse," the alien voice said. "If the superior human being Starpulse does not give himself to our hands in one hundred and twenty-eight of your species' minutes, all inferior beings in the arena below will be ended. Any further attempt to damage this vessel will result in the immediate ending of all beings within the arena below."

"It repeated that several times, then shut up," Dixon said. "Since then… the ship has just sat there. Same for the alien inside."

"Okay," Starpulse said. "Guess I'd better get in there, then."

A sudden wind sprang up, and a young woman in a white bodysuit and full-head mask complete with goggles stood in front of Starpulse, her hands on her hips, her eyes on his.

"You really don't think you're going in there alone, do you?" White Mongoose asked. "Come on, Starpulse— you know I owe you a couple of times at bat in the backup department."

"What she means is that you're an idiot," said another voice from behind Starpulse, a lightly sarcastic man's voice. "Only Mongoose is too polite to say it. I'm not."

Starpulse started to turn, saw a flicker of shadow behind him, and aborted the movement. In a flash of deep gray shadow, a slender man stood next to White Mongoose, his black and gray loose-fitting fighting costume seeming to cast shadows in too many directions.

"Shadow Dragon, didn't you save my butt, last time we worked together?" Starpulse asked. "So I owe you, not the other way around."

"Yeah, but you're all straightforward and stupid," Shadow Dragon, a teleporting martial artist with power over shadows, said cheerfully. "I'm a sneaky bastich, and I'll do the job right. You know— hit them from behind, teleport away, let them think it was you, let you take the reprisal hit, rinse, repeat."

"Yeah, and while he's doing that, I'll teach Mr. Lizard to play spin-lizard," White Mongoose said. "Sort of like spin-kitty, only on a lizard thing, which— hey, look, snaky! Perfect for me."

"They're right," said a woman's voice from behind Starpulse, a voice that somehow managed to be sultry and singsong at the same time. "This is not an occasion for you to go solo.

"We all go in, Starpulse."

Starpulse sighed, braced himself for the sheer physical impact of the woman who called herself simply "Power," and turned to face her.

Short, not more than five-one, weighed maybe a hundred pounds. Tiny waist, C-cup breasts, beautifully flaring hips, proportionately long legs, a serenely beautiful face that had definite Asian overtones, despite golden-blond hair and blue eyes. Wearing, as usual, only biker's shorts that hugged her lower body delightfully, a sports bra, sneakers and gloves. Somehow, she got by without a mask— apparently, some element of her appearance was artificial, though he had no idea what it might be, and her "normal" appearance different enough that no one connected her secret identity with Power.

_Scary to think that such a tiny woman could fling an old diesel train engine into orbit,_ Starpulse thought, trying not to stare at the tightly toned but still very female body.

"Look, folks," Starpulse said in an even, level voice. "I appreciate the way you all came running— or leaping, or teleporting— I really do. But these aliens are powerful as all get out— and they asked for me. Specifically.

"So what are you going to feel like if you go in there with me… and the aliens start killing people in retaliation?

"I need to go in there alone. You folks need to be ready to stop that damned ship if it goes somewhere else, or attacks the people out here. But you can't go in with me."

"Yeah, whatever," Shadow Dragon said. "Hello? Teleporter, here!"

"And if you teleport in and people die because of it?" Starpulse asked. "What then?"

Uncomfortable silence.

"Yeah," Starpulse said. "It's got to be me— alone."

"Broken _skulls_ but I hate it when you get all noble!" Shadow Dragon muttered. "Did you ever hear of having fun, 'Pulse? I mean, come on! Try it! Fun never killed anybody!"

"You ever taken a good look at my face when I'm flying, Dragon?" Starpulse asked. "Or— remember the night we got those people out of the burning building in the Bronx? You're the one who said if I grinned any wider they'd have to put a hinge on the back of my skull."

"Yeah, I said that— after you pulled the little girl and her damned _cat_ out of there when the place was coming down around your ears." Shadow Dragon shook his head and added in a mournful tone, "I think you have _fun_ being _noble_. And that's just… wrong!"

"Yeah, but you have fun jumping in front of moving getaway cars and teleporting away just before you get hit," Starpulse said. "So which one of us is crazy?"

"Starpulse," Power said. "Are you certain about going in there alone? There is plenty of time left on the deadline, and I'm sure that others will come. Perhaps Neural could read the aliens' minds, find out if they've got a weakness you could exploit, or— well, if nothing else, you should wait until Heartline gets here, so she can heal you if you're hurt."

"Power, if I wait too long, some hotshot loner like Cyber Knight or Sin-Fire will show up, and then everything will go out of control," Starpulse said. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "No. No more waiting.

"I'm going in. You folks wait here, try to help the authorities, and for god's sake, don't let Knight or Sin-Fire do anything stupid if they show up. Power… it's not for me to say, but I think you should take charge out here."

"What's she got that I ain't got?" Shadow Dragon asked, waving his arms wildly. "I mean, besides a killer body, all sorts of tactical know-how, the ability to fling tanks at the moon, more patience than your average saint and did I mention a body to _die_ for?"

"Special Agent Dixon, will you work with me on this?" Power asked, ignoring Shadow Dragon completely.

"Of course, Power," Dixon said. "Let me show you what we've got for a perimeter, here."

"A moment, please," Power said. "Starpulse… may I hug you?"

"Uh, sure," Starpulse said. "I'm pretty sure that'll be the high point of my day."

Power hugged him, firm enough to be hard, but not hard enough to cause him any discomfort, and said, "You are a brave man. I only hope this isn't the bad idea it feels like."

"Good or bad, it's the only way to play it," Starpulse said. "Thanks, Power— you give a good hug."

"My turn," White Mongoose said. She hugged him fiercely and said, "Don't do anything stupid— you know, just ask yourself, 'what would Shadow Dragon do?'— then do the opposite."

"For that, madam, I will not tell you the URL of the website that is displaying pictures that it claims are nudes of you," Shadow Dragon said. "So there!"

The teleporting martial artist turned to Starpulse and said, "Look, your nobleness… you can change the color of your power blasts, right?"

"I can, but I have to focus on it," Starpulse said. "Why?"

" 'Cause if you get in over your pointy head, you fire off a big red blast, and I'll teleport your insanely upright and forthwith ass right on out of that place," Shadow Dragon said. "If I don't do that much, at least, Heartline will give me her patented 'you bad boy,' look, and I really don't know if I could take that— not again."

"All right," Starpulse said. He shook the other man's hand, said, "Remember— step on Cyber Knight and Sin-Fire. Threaten them with me, if you have to— Sin-Fire's scared of me, after the last time he and I… talked."

"Was that the time you 'talked' up where the air was so thin he could barely breathe?" Shadow Dragon asked brightly. "Or the time you 'talked' while you were sitting in the water five hundred miles from the nearest piece of land?"

"Neither," Starpulse said. He grinned devilishly and said, "It was the time that we talked while I flew at a mountainside at about mach two, with him dangling by one ankle from my hand. I think he might have gotten the message, finally…."

"Oh, you didn't!" Power said.

"I did," Starpulse said. "He'd just barely missed burning a five year-old boy to death when the kid surprised us while Sin-Fire was interrogating the boy's dad. If I hadn't been there, gotten between boy and blast… yeah. I wouldn't have let Sin hit the rocks— but I was so mad that he couldn't tell that."

"Well… if it worked, I suppose I can't argue," Power said. "Go, Starpulse, before one of the unruly ones show up."

"Good luck," White Mongoose called.

Starpulse flew to the edge of the dome of energy that covered the Homestead-Miami Speedway, right outside the stadium's main entrance.

"My name is Starpulse," he called loudly. "You wanted me— I'm here. Let me in."

A small area of the force field arched up away from the ground, stopping at about eight feet high, and Starpulse stepped through. Immediately, the force field closed behind him, and he started in through the stadium. A hole had been disintegrated from the entrance to the surface of the tracks, so he had a straight walk. As soon as he stepped out onto the track, someone yelled, "It's STARPULSE! I KNEW HE'D COME!"

Cheers and applause broke out all over the stadium, and Starpulse rose into the air some, waved for quiet. Finally, he got it, and he called, "I'm going to do what they want, folks— you get out as soon as they'll let you out, and you be careful— no stampedes, okay?"

The crowd roared again, and Starpulse flew over to the opposite end of the ninety foot rectangle in the middle of the pit area, waited until the secondary force field around it opened, then flew inside, landed, and said, "Okay, you wanted me— you got me. Now let these people go!"

The alien looked at him oddly for a long moment, then said something in a clicking, hissing language. Starpulse opened his mouth to say that he didn't understand— and the words came out in English, sounding loud and grating.

"Just like that, you give yourself to an enemy?" the alien said. "Have you no pride? No courage?"

"You think I'm not proud of the fact that I'll do what you want to save these folks?" Starpulse said. "And courage? Uh, yeah. I'm scared, here— but I'm still here. That's courage, in my book."

"Yours must be a child's book," the alien said, or maybe the alien's translator said. "Courage is fighting."

"Your definition, not mine," Starpulse said. "I'll fight, when I have to. But that's not courage."

"So… you will fight when you have to," the alien said. "So good… then you will have to.

"Fight me, Superior Human Being Starpulse— or I will kill everyone here. Regardless of who wins, I will release them."

"You said you'd let them go if I came," Starpulse said. "I'm here. Let them go."

"You did not listen," the alien said. "No thing like that was said. What was said was that if you did not come the inferior humans would be killed. Nothing was said about releasing them if you did come."

"Listen to me, you scaly son of a diseased alligator," Starpulse said, his voice low and tight. "If you don't let them go, you die. I don't like killing, but I will. To save all these people, I _will!"_

"You do not like killing," the alien said. It spread both hands out, palms down. "You are sad. To not like killing is to not like living.

"I am Skradal Kratsaa. I command the vessel above you. I command the mission to take you to my world. I challenge you. You fight me, Superior Human Being Starpulse. You defeat me, I let the inferior humans go and let you go. I defeat you, you come to my planet without difficulty, swear to not ever try to leave— and still I let the inferior human beings go."

"Define 'defeat,' Skradal Kratsaa," Starpulse said, struggling with the alien name, but not doing badly. "And stop with the 'Superior Human Being Starpulse' bit. Just Starpulse."

"Defeat, Starpulse, comes when either of us falls to the platform or the ground and cannot rise again in… two hands of your second-time-units. Two proper hands." It held up its own hands as example. "Or when you kill me, if you will grow the courage to do as you should."

"Any rules?" Starpulse asked.

"You have weapons of your body, your… powers," Skradal said. "So I will use the weapons of my people. Past that… only hatchlings pull tails."

"Okay, no tail-pulling," Starpulse said. "I don't have a tail— so you don't pull my hair— this stuff." He ran a hand over his hair and flipped his ponytail. "Agreed?"

"Agreed." Skradal stood— standing, he was over seven feet tall— and took a slender double-cylinder connected by a band that looked to fit over his lower arm, and fitted it over his left arm. He then took a slender metallic cord in his right and said, "Prepare.

"Begin!"

Starpulse activated his force field, took the first hit from the alien's double-cylindered beam weapon on his chest— and felt nothing but a very mild increase in heat. Skradal looked worried, and snarled something in his own language that wasn't translated. Either there was no equivalent, or the translator had been shut off.

Starpulse started walking forward as the alien fired his double-barreled weapon repeatedly, taking hits on chest, stomach, face, even groin— and he felt nothing but a mild, even pleasant, heat from the hits.

As he got within thirty feet or so of the alien, still strolling casually, Starpulse raised his right hand and fired a single blast at the alien. Apparently, Skradal had a personal force field of his own— but it wasn't as good as Starpulse's field. The beam hit it square in the chest, and the reptilian alien flew backwards, slammed into the wall of the force field that surrounded the stage, rebounded, and staggered towards Starpulse, shaking its head and hissing in fury.

"Okay, this is going to be less of a challenge than I thought," Starpulse said. "So, Skradal— if you surrender, I'll accept it. I'll even let you take your ship and get out of here, so long as you don't hurt anyone else."

"No surrender!" Skradal said, and this time it was translated. Apparently, the alien's profanity didn't translate well, but everything else did okay. "Fight me! Fight back!"

"Okay." This time, Starpulse fired a beam at half power— the first one had been about ten percent of normal power, the sort of thing he'd use on a slightly augmented human. This time, he went for a shot that would take out most of the super-strong villains and heroes who didn't have any more toughness than that required to keep them from tearing themselves apart with their own strength.

Skradal slammed into the chair he'd been sitting in, bent the whole thing horribly out of shape when he and it slammed into the force field wall. It staggered to its feet, shook its head again, and started swinging the slender cord in its right hand, paying out the metallic line as it advanced until it swung all thirty feet or so of cord around its head surprisingly quickly. Skradal lunged forward suddenly, still swinging, and the cord wrapped twice around Starpulse's upper arms, pinning them to his sides, but leaving his lower arms free.

Skradal hiss-roared in triumph— then shrieked as Starpulse simply flew backwards at a hundred miles an hour or so and slammed into the back wall of the force field around the platform. The alien hit a few feet to Starpulse's left, face first, and staggered back, dropping the cord. Starpulse grabbed the cord where it had melded together on his chest, and melted it with a medium-power blast.

"Okay, give up?" Starpulse asked. "I mean, I haven't even gone past half-power blasts, yet."

Skradal hiss-howled and leaped at Starpulse, long, over-jointed arms swinging, clawed fingers slashing, open hands slapping. The impacts got loud— but Starpulse felt nothing at all.

"Okay, this is past old and into stupid," Starpulse said. "Fight's over."

"Not over!" Skradal hissed, still swinging. "Still fi— AAAAAHHHH!"

Starpulse fired twin power blasts— full power, but concussive only, not burning— into the alien's legs, halfway between hip and knee. Both legs broke, one popping the bone out through muscle and hide, and the creature fell to the metal platform.

"Okay, we're done," Starpulse said. "We both know you aren't getting up from that in eight seconds.

"Let these people go."

"You… are powerful," Skradal said. "And… stupid.

"Would you keep your word to a… a blind, stupid animal that writhes in mud?

"You are so stupid you might. But I do not keep my word to any not my race."

Starpulse raised both hands, fired a twin blast at the most power he could put out, practically obliterated the alien's body— but to no avail.

The alien must have given a signal, or… something. Starpulse didn't realize what was happening until the first person screamed.

The secondary force field, the one around the platform in the pit area, was expanding outward towards the primary one around the whole raceway— rapidly. And the people were caught between the two… and all of the wood, metal and concrete of the stands that was being carried along by the expanding inner force field.

"NO!" Starpulse screamed. "NO! NO!"

He blasted full power at the force field, tried to break through to the alien spacecraft— but the field showed no effect at all from his blasts. He tried a lower place, near the ground, thinking that if he could make a hole, any hole, anywhere, the field might collapse, or at least weaken.

Starpulse poured all the power he could into the alien force field— but nothing changed. Nothing stopped the ever-expanding inner field. He blasted away, trying to drown out the screams of the people who were being crushed, crushed into each other, the rubble of the stands, the force field— but that many people, screaming their last, he could not drown out.

Finally, the screams, the snapping of bones, the horrible glopping sound of popping human bodies, and the crunch of rubble stopped— and Starpulse looked around to see a dome of a horrible, hideous red all around him.

Then the internal force field vanished— and the red rain fell on him, covered his force field in the crushed red paste of more than _sixty thousand people_.

Starpulse— Colin Goddard, he never wanted to be Starpulse again!— snapped.

Something inside him pushed at the white-gold ball of energy that was his power, pushed the door of that power open farther than he'd ever opened it before— and Colin Goddard flared as brightly as a star brought to earth, destroying every drop of pulverized human being that was inside the alien force field, burning away a huge, round pit in the racetrack and the ground beneath it.

Half mad with grief and guilt, he looked up at the alien ship above him— and did something he'd never dared to do before.

Colin Goddard maximized his force field, then surrounded it with the energy he used to burn things away, making him a missile of impossible, deadly heat. That, he'd done before.

Then he accelerated straight at the center of the alien vessel, went from floating still in the air to moving at slightly in excess of _twenty-seven thousand miles an hour_ in the space of a hundredth of a second. That… he'd never done that before, never been angry enough to _need_ to do that.

He barely felt the impact— and he bored through the alien ship like a power drill through pudding.

He stopped some ten miles up— a flicker of movement, that was all he perceived— and flew back down even as the alien vessel, crackling with unknown energies, rocking from small explosions all through it… dropped into the pit he'd burned away.

He screamed, screamed so loud that he felt blood trickling down his throat, started to fly down to destroy any alien that might live through the crash—

— and something grabbed hold of him, froze him in place, twisted him through spaces and places he'd never imagined—

— then dropped him in a basement full of monsters, monsters attacking a beautiful girl.


	15. For Stars Lie Hidden…

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 15: For Stars Lie Hidden….

"… and then… then I w-was in a basement room, and there were monsters," Colin said. "Lots of monsters, all attacking a beautiful girl, and I… st-stopped them and—and the rest… you know the r-r-rest."

We all sat stunned, horrified— but not by any failure of his, he hadn't failed, not like he thought, not the way he blamed himself for failing! We were horrified and sickened and stunned by what the aliens had done— but _they_ were to blame, not Colin!

"A-all those p-p-people!" Colin sobbed. His next words rose, became a scream. "Th-they d-d-_DIED!_

"I DIDN'T SAVE THEM AND THEY ALL DIED SO AW-_AWFULLY,_ OH, _GOD!"_

Colin threw his head back and screamed, the scream of an animal caught in a trap, a trap that hurts and bites— but won't permit death.

I ran to him. Damn the broken leg and never mind that it hurt.

He fought me, fought us when Mi Kyong came over to try to help me calm down the man she considered her brother, tried to pull away, tried to not accept the comfort we wanted— _needed_— to give, but we're Slayers, and he wouldn't actually hurt us, so he couldn't do that. We both clung to him, both of us saying, "No, Colin, it's not your fault," or variations on that, over and over again. That and "It's _their_ fault, not yours, we love you," and variations on it.

Then Buffy was there, crying, shuddering with the sheer hurt that we all felt, the understanding of the hurt Colin felt, the horror he'd seen— and hugging him, and saying it wasn't his fault, he couldn't blame himself for it. Then Joyce was there, doing much the same, and Xander, and Belinda, and… soon, Colin was the center of a mass hug.

He exhausted himself sobbing, and fell asleep, slumped between Mi Kyong and me, and people backed off some. Angel looked… sick. Like he understood, but like he was mad, too.

"Damn dumb son of a— how can he blame himself for that!?" Angel said, emphatically but quietly. "Jesus, he's not a— a xeno-psychologist. He couldn't know that the thing didn't take oaths to not-its-race people seriously!"

"You're right," Diane said. "But it's something… you see it, in my job. That assumption of blame for things you could never have prevented, I mean. You see it in cops, in firefighters, in EMTs and doctors… even Slayers. But that's okay. I know how to help him, now. I can get a foot in the door— because I know what was holding it shut.

"Listen to me, all of you— you folks have done it right. You all accepted him, you all tried to help… you all cared. That made it possible to help him. Angel, Faith, you two pushing him into talking, that made it possible to help him sooner, which will make it easier. Jocelyn, Mi Kyong… forcing him to let you hold him right now? Very much the right thing to do. And all of you hugging him—"

"You were right there with us on the hugging bit!" Aunt Dawn said. "Credit to you, too!"

"Yes, but I _knew_ to do it— you folks just did it." Diane grinned around at us. "So… yeah. You all get points."

"Diane," Daddy said, "I have a thought or three. Giles, let's you, me and Diane talk for a few— we might be able to get her foot even more solidly in the door, if we can consolidate our arguments before he wakes up.

"And… oh, I'm almost stupid! Thomas? You can definitely help, here. Ballard, Rose, Sara, you too. And Xander, if you're up to it."

As the others moved to follow Daddy off to one side, Xander hugged Joyce, hugged and kissed Buffy, and moved to follow Daddy, saying, "I feel up to it— it's good to be able to do something positive, right now. And hey, I am a geek, this may be right down my alley."

"Very much so," Daddy said as they all went towards the farthest picnic table. "You geeks are key to my idea, here, but Giles may be best to present— authority figure, learnéd man, all that jazz…."

I watched them go, hoping they could help, and sat there, half-holding Colin while Mi Kyong held his other half, both of us watching his face. The expression he wore, even in his sleep, was that of a haunted, hunted thing, and I prayed to the Powers That Be that Daddy's idea would pan out, because seeing him hurt like that, carry so much pain so… so _wrongly,_ that left me scared and a little sick.

After maybe ten minutes, Xander went past us, towards his house, moving at a quick trot. He came out of the house in five minutes or so, carrying a small load of comic books— and I started to have an idea about what they were maybe doing. I was only a little right, but hey— not a comic reader, so I felt pretty good about that much right.

Then Willow got called over to the group and went, pulling Lydia with her. They came back a few minutes later, and Willow said, "You should get someone to help— the big trunk is no lightweight."

"I'll help," Aunt Dawn said, standing.

"Nope, I need your brain, Dawnie," Willow said. "I need the wacky way you can turn a spell into something modern, O Chief of the Guardians. And I need Sh'rin, too— c'mere, you two, we're about to get all freaky with the mojo."

"I'll help, Aunt Lydia," Riley Giles said. "Aunt Wil's big trunk? In your room, right?"

"Bet on it, slugger," Lydia said. "The big trunk— that thing always makes me nervous."

"Why's it make you nervous?" Riley asked as they went to the house.

"I tried to open it once, thinking it was the one she meant had a dress in it I was going to borrow for Faith and Angel's wedding," Lydia said, "and the damned thing bit me!"

"Seriously?" Riley said as they went inside.

Mi Kyong and I sat, and we waited, and we watched Colin. Lydia and Riley came out with Willow's big trunk of magic supplies, and Wil pulled out a lot of things, starting with a big tarpaulin, all folded up. She unfolded it, spread it neatly on the grass, and started drawing a big magic circle on the heavy cloth, a circle around a pentagram inside it, giving her two circles, the outer one twenty feet across, the inner one and the five-rayed star inside it more like eighteen feet, with a foot of blank space between the circles. Once she was done, Aunt Dawn and Aunt Sh'rin started working on filling the blank part in, consulting with each other, some in English, some in Aunt Sh'rin's ancient Cheyenne dialect, which Aunt Dawn had learned in the fifteen years they'd been in love.

"See, the _hile_ is the _calta nen'ray_," Aunt Sh'rin said. "That will pull the eye of the spell _t'sen n'ree oh_."

"I see it now," Aunt Dawn said. "But I'm sure glad you're here to help— never tried anything like this before.

"The _ren dah sel,_ should that be from Colin? I mean, when we want _t'sen n'ree oh,_ he was there-then, but now he's here-now."

"You learn well," Aunt Sh'rin said, and kissed Aunt Dawn's cheek. "But for the _hile_ we seek, Colin is the only _can'ta roh_."

"Oh, right, duh," Aunt Dawn said. "You sure about this last feather in my hair, Sh'rin?"

"The magic is sure, love," Aunt Sh'rin said. "You do not escape your responsibility so easily as that."

One of these days, I'm going to pick up more than the dozen or so words of Aunt Sh'rin's language that I know— just so I can follow conversations like that. The only word I recognized was _"hile,"_ which means path, though not like a path between places, but a path of life, or of being. State of being, maybe? Metaphysical path, that works.

Aunt Dawn and Aunt Sh'rin filled in the borders of the circle, and Willow got out five crystal statues, each a different color and of a different thing, stepped into the still-open circle, and placed them carefully while I watched with wide eyes. They weren't the same as the statues in the circle that had brought Colin to our world, but they were similar. She placed them at the tips of the star's rays, too, not the points of the pentagon made by the lines of the star.

A white crystal statue of a rearing lion went at the point of one ray. A gray one of a sword, a red flame, a green one of a cresting wave, and an amber-gold one of a multi-rayed starburst thing, similar to the one Colin had worn on his Starpulse costume, but with more rays and no circle across any of the rays. And in three dimensions, of course.

Then Giles and the others came back, and Diane said, "Girls… I imagine that you're both feeling very protective right now, and that— well, I can't say it's not a good idea.

"But I want to wake Colin up, and have Giles and the others hammer some ideas into his thick damned skull— because doing it _now,_ soon after the release of him telling us what happened, that will have a better chance of doing him good than doing it later."

"I… see the sense of it," Mi Kyong said. "I say yes— though I am not so close to him as Jocelyn, do not love him the way she does, I do love him— and would see him well."

"Heck, yes," I said. "We have to help him, Diane, because… because I can't stand that thought of him not having help with… _that_."

"Okay, then why don't you two wake him," Diane said. "Then… well, you're already clinging like limpets. Don't stop that, okay?"

"No problem," I said.

"Very much not a problem," Mi Kyong said. "Jocelyn, if he comes awake upset… you are more trained. I will wake him, if you will restrain him if he is… upset?"

"Good idea," I said. "Knew I loved you for good reasons."

Mi Kyong smiled at me— then took both of Colin's hands in hers while I supported his shoulders, and said, "Colin? Colin, you must wake. Wake up, my friend."

Colin stirred a little, made a low, thick sound in his throat— then sat bolt upright, drawing in a sharp breath as he did so.

"Easy, Colin!" I said. "Easy, sweetheart, we're right here, and it's okay."

"It's n-not okay," Colin whispered. "I… they _died!_ They died b-because I w-w-was _stupid!"_

"No."

The voice was calm and level, not loud— but it still stopped Colin cold. Giles can just… do that. Pack so much flat, implacable authority into his voice that I'm not sure that dirtbag Warren wouldn't shut up and pay attention.

"No, Colin," Giles said. "It was not your fault, not in any way. Nothing could have prepared you for that threat, nothing could have changed this Skradal creature's mind.

"You are not to blame. You need to blame someone, I understand that— and it is a testament to your commitment to saving lives that you blame yourself.

"But you are wrong to do so. I believe that I can prove it… if you will truly _listen to me_."

"I… Giles, I… y-yes." Colin looked hurt, sick, weary and sad beyond belief. "I'll listen."

"Very well," Giles said. He sat down in a lawn chair that Buffy brought over to the picnic table that Colin, Mi Kyong and I sat on and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. "Colin… answer me this; what would you do differently if you could go back and do it all over again?"

Colin opened his mouth— and froze, staring. After a long moment, he said, "I'd— I'd let the others come in with me. That might have changed things! Power alone—"

"You have indicated that the comics we've read, some of us, are accurate in their depictions of your life, your world," Giles interrupted. "Do you stand by that indication, Colin?"

"I— yes, they were accurate," Colin admitted. "Scarily so, sometimes… the writer, he n-knew what I was _thinking_. That's k-kind of scary."

"I can imagine that it would be, yes," Giles agreed. "But Colin, the second time that you faced off against the man called Praetor, you had allies. Shadow Dragon, Sin-fire… and Power. After that battle, Shadow Dragon congratulated you on being the single most powerful being on your world, and you tried to argue with him, claimed that Power was more powerful than you. Yet Power pointed out that she never did manage to breach Praetor's force field, let alone his armored costume, and you did _both at once_ on more than one occasion in that battle.

"You admitted then that you had more raw power at your disposal than she did— will you deny it now?

"Is your need to blame yourself that great?"

Colin didn't answer for a moment. When he spoke, his voice sounded hurt. "All right, but maybe the two of us— or Dragon, he might have been able to teleport some of the people out."

"It was established in issue nineteen that Shadow Dragon could not teleport through force fields, through any of those he'd yet encountered, and he'd encountered many varieties." Giles leaned back a little and said, "Colin… you read Chosen to Stand. You know that Riley Finn chose to hand me command of all forces in the Battle of Bloomington. Do you remember why?"

"Because… you are the best tac—tactician alive when it comes to dealing with supernatural stuff," Colin said. "I remember."

"Yes," Giles said. "I… do not wish to sound conceited, but there is reason to believe that he was correct."

"Damn straight," Xander said. "We're all still here, for one— and you taught all of us Watchers how to _be_ Watchers, Giles."

"Thank you, Xander," Giles said. Then he looked at Colin, said sternly, "Young man, to me, the events you describe are nothing but supernatural threats. I can understand them, think of them as things I might well encounter… and I am telling you that had I been there, had I been in charge of things, I'd have ordered you to do _exactly as you did_— because that was the best chance those people had of coming out of there alive! Taking your friends in with you might well have resulted in the aliens killing those people sooner— and your friends, as well as you, carrying this foolish guilt.

"Colin… that the best chance turned out to be no chance _is in no way your fault_— you have to accept that… or you're never going to get better.

"You owe Jocelyn and Mi Kyong better than that.

"You owe Power, Shadow Dragon, White Mongoose, Sin-Fire, Cyber Knight, Neural, Heartline, Roughneck and Armsman better than that.

"But most of all… Colin, you owe those sixty thousand people who died better than that. Yes, they died— but you destroyed their murderers, young man, and that goes a long way towards balancing the scales.

"It doesn't finish the job. To finish balancing the scales, Colin, you have to come to terms with what happened, and you have to live the best life that you can— because those people deserve better than their deaths causing you to bloody _quit!"_

Colin gulped hard a time or two, managed to say around a sob, "I… don't know if… if I can!"

"You have to try," Buffy said. "You have to. Giles is right, Colin. _You have to try_."

"Colin… I'd like to make a wager with you," Giles said. "It involves something that may well cause you pain… but it may also enable you to get past the pain."

"W-what wager?" Colin stammered, wiping furiously at his eyes.

"If I can show you that your friends outside the Homestead-Miami Speedway did everything they could to get inside and help, or to break the outside force dome, and were not successful, will you do your very best to accept that there was nothing you could have done to change things?" Giles asked. "And further, to let Diane help you come to terms with what happened?"

"I… yes," Colin said. "Yes, I… yes. Losing that bet would be… be nice."

"Willow, the floor is yours," Giles said.

"Okay," Willow said, sounding a little nervous, like she often did before a big work that mattered a lot. "Okay.

"Colin… do you know much about Wicca?"

"No, not… not a lot," Colin admitted. "I know some things— that you aren't evil at all, and that— that it comes in lots of flavors, like Christianity and— and other religions."

"Well, that's more than most people bother to learn," Willow said. "So… it's a start.

"Colin, I need you to understand— look, you know that I went crazy and almost destroyed the world once, right? That was in Rose's book, she asked me if she could put it in and I… I had to say yes, because the Wicca that I believe in pretty much demands that you fess up to stuff. See?"

"I think so, yes," Colin said. "I… like that."

"Good," Willow said. "So… look, you can see that I have a lot to make up for, right? Sure, I've helped save the world some since then, maybe even a little bit before then… but that doesn't clean my slate. Or maybe it does, but I don't feel like it, so I always try— look, when Amy tried to bring back the First Evil, I knew I could stop her, stop her as easy as you could light a fire with your powers— if I was willing to use so much power that I went into the Dark. Maybe not far into the Dark, probably not far, even. I could probably have come back, and I probably wouldn't have hurt anyone before I managed to come back to the light— but I didn't do it. Can you see why?"

"You… couldn't risk it," Colin said, very slowly. "To risk evil like that, even for the sake of something good… you couldn't r-risk it. Right?"

"Yeah," Willow said, breathing a sigh of relief that he understood. "So… will you believe me when I tell you that lying to you now, deliberately feeding you false information of any kind, _even to make you feel better,_ that would be an evil I won't do— because it could stain my soul, and I can't risk that?"

"Yes," Colin said softly. "I believe that."

"Okay," Willow said. "So… I'm going to use a spell I worked up with Dawnie and Sh'rin to show you what happened outside the Speedway while you were inside, and maybe a little after. I don't know what we're going to see, any more than you do. But… I have enough confidence in Giles and our comic geeks that I'm willing to run the risk of maybe… you could see something bad, Colin, something… that will make things worse. It's not impossible.

"But Thomas, Xander, Rose and Ballard all say that Giles is right, and I trust them, trust him and Whitey. I trust that they're right.

"Maybe more importantly, Colin… I trust _you._ I trust you to have done all that you could, to have done the only right thing there was to do, and never mind that it didn't work out, it was still the right thing.

"So… I just need to get a little blood from you for the spell, and we can find out whether or not you're being all wrong-headed."

Wordlessly, Colin offered his hand, and Willow drew a silver knife and tried to cut his thumb. She grunted with effort— and barely scratched him.

"Better l-let me," Colin said. "Hold your bowl-thing and the knife— no, p-point down, please. Yes. Say when you have enough, I'll m-move my thumb away then."

Colin put his force field up, but only around his left hand, and steadied the blade of Willow's knife with that hand. He then pressed his right thumb against the blade and slid it down, held his thumb there with the blade intruding into his flesh while blood dripped into the bowl. After maybe a tablespoon had dripped out, Willow said, "That's enough," and he pulled his hands away from the knife. He dropped the force field around his left hand, used the fingers of that hand to apply pressure to the base of his thumb, stopping the bleeding, and by bedtime, there was only the narrow white line of a scar there. Even that vanished before morning.

"Okay," Willow said, moving into the magic circle and placing the bowl with the blood in the center. "Almost ready. Giles, Wes— will you two take the open points of the pentagram? Just focus on seeing the outside of the inside that Colin told us about."

Willow knelt at the cardinal point of the pentagram, looked around and said, "Couldn't have done this without Dawn and Sh'rin— they modified the spell that the Guardians of Sh'rin's time used to show her the things we original Scoobies had done, and we all combined that with a variant on the spell that brought Colin here in the first place— they do good work."

While Willow spoke, Aunt Dawn and Aunt Sh'rin knelt at the two points most nearly facing Willow, and Giles and Wesley Wyndham-Pryce took the two flanking Willow.

"Okey doke," Willow said. "Well… let's see what we see."

She started chanting in a language I didn't know (not much help, that— just meant it wasn't English), and Colin pulled Mi Kyong and I closer and shivered as we all held on to each other.

After most of two minutes of chanting, the circle lit up from the inside, images in three-dee flickering and wavering like a TV stuck between channels… then snapped into sharp focus, showing Power, Shadow Dragon and White Mongoose watching Colin as he walked to the raceway stadium to try and save the people inside.

"Noble," Shadow Dragon said with a sigh and a shake of his head. "The idiot.

"Okay, Power… what's the plan for out here?"

"Establish now whether or not you'll be able to go in after Starpulse, should it come to that," Power said. "You have difficulty teleporting through force fields, don't you?"

"Crap," Shadow Dragon said. "Crap in a hat— I forgot…. Worried, I guess. Damned fool better not get killed.

"Be right back."

In a pulse of shadow, the martial artist disappeared— and from the point on the force field that Starpulse had gone in through came a snarled, "Damn it all to _hell!_ I can't get through!"

"I was afraid of that," Power said. "All right— then we'll have to hope I can break through, if it comes to that."

The three of them went to talk to the FBI agents, and not much happened— until four more heroes arrived close together, over the space of about a minute. A man in black and white with a sword symbol on the left side of his chest arrived first, and he looked older than the others, even under the half-mask that he wore. He might have been thirty or thirty-five, to the others' twenty.

"Hey, Armsman!" Shadow Dragon called. "You can't do modern weapons, right?"

"I'm afraid not," Armsman called back.

"So how about a ballista?" Shadow Dragon said. "Or a catapult?"

"I can make those," Armsman said. "Though a trebuchet is a better idea than a catapult."

"Sweet, we may need siege weapons— 'Pulse went all noble on us."

"All right, you'd better fill me— hello, Heartline," Armsman said.

A woman in a red coverall with a white sinus-rhythm-line across her chest had appeared in a flash of white light. Her black hair framed a face that looked elegant, gorgeous, and worried, maybe even in pain.

"Hello, everyone," Heartline said. "What's happening here?"

"A moment," Power said. "I see more coming."

A man in hi-tech armor flew in, and a woman in a plain black coverall and mask came with him, hanging on to him telekinetically to fly, by the way her flight path followed his.

"Okay, who invited the aliens to the party, and can I have any of their tech we manage to scavenge?" asked the man in armor as he landed.

"Cyber Knight, Neural, I'm glad you both came," Power said. "We may need your abilities. Listen…."

Power didn't even get to finish the briefing before Heartline went deathly pale, cried out, almost-but-not-quite-screamed, and dropped to her knees, clutching her head and keening.

"Mongoose, get her out of here!" Power snapped. "Her empathy—"

"Couldkillhergone!" White Mongoose said, speaking almost too fast to be understood, then blurring into motion, grabbing Heartline and carrying her away.

"Everyone— break that dome!" Neural shouted. "Move, move, move!"

"What—" Armsman started.

"There are two force fields, one inside the other," Neural said, "and the inner one is expanding, while the second doesn't! The people will be crushed!"

"Power, throw me!" Armsman shouted, even as a huge, studded mace of some silvery energy formed in his right hand. "Hard as you can!"

"You could be hur—" Power started.

"DO IT!" Armsman yelled.

Even as Power grabbed Armsman's belt, lifted him— he balanced and shifted as she did, so he'd go head first, they'd obviously done this before— the woman Neural gestured, and a concrete light pole snapped off near its base and flew at the force field dome, hit it hard enough to make a sound like thunder— and didn't bother it at all.

Power threw Armsman so hard that he broke the sound barrier, and his energy mace made a noise louder than the light pole had— and did no more good. Armsman picked himself up— he'd fallen right there at the field's edge— and the mace became a crossbow that he fired repeatedly, doing no good. Crossbow became sword, then halberd— and neither enabled the man to scratch the dome.

The others had attacked their own ways— Power hammered the dome with her fists, Cyber Knight pumped energy bolts of several different types at it, Shadow Dragon teleported so many times it was almost like watching a film that had been badly spliced, landed at the edge of the dome every time, never passed inside it— all to no avail.

The first splatters of red hit the inside of the dome— and Armsman screamed, "BACK AWAY, ALL OF YOU! NOW! POWER! COME HERE!"

The others cleared out as Armsman, concentrating visibly, formed a truly gigantic crossbow— a ballista, a siege weapon used in medieval times— out of his silvery energy, shaking and sweating as he did so.

Power looked at him worriedly as she passed him— the strain on him must have been huge, sweat was _pouring_ off of him— and vaulted into the place where a bolt would normally have gone.

"Now!" Power yelled— and Armsman flipped the firing lever.

His power must have been scary— because Power, too, broke the sound barrier as the thing launched her at the dome. The sound of the double-punch she fired as she hit was scary-loud— and nothing happened other than that she fell to the ground, weeping and cursing.

"Oh, god," Neural said, staring as the red crept up the force field wall. "Oh, god, they— they're all… dead. All those people, those monsters—"

"Co—Starpulse!?" Armsman gasped, staggering forward and catching hold of Neural's upper arms.

"He's… he's alive, but… no, no, dammit!" Neural shouted. "Starpulse, LISTEN TO ME! HEAR ME, YOU IDIOT! NO!

"STARPULSE, IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT! NO, DON'T!"

The red mess on the inside of the dome got thinner, lighter in color— and I knew that the aliens had shut down the interior force field.

"WHAT!?" Armsman yelled. "WHAT IS HE DOING!?"

"He's… he thinks it's his fault!" Neural whispered. "He's… he's blaming himself!"

"What the fuck!?" Shadow Dragon said, popping into existence beside them. "He can't be— not even His Nobleness could be that stupid!"

"He thinks… he should have let you all go in with him," Neural whispered. "He's… the aliens, he's going to— I can't keep the contact, the pain he's in— I can't—"

Her eyes closed suddenly— and a horrible, crackling hissing came from inside the force field dome, even as white light flared so brightly that people put their arms across their eyes. When it dimmed, all could see the huge pit beneath the alien ship, the pit Colin had burned out when he destroyed the horrible mess that had been sixty thousand people.

"I… he's there, I feel him, but I can't reach him at all," Neural said. "I can't—"

The alien ship suddenly shuddered and boomed— and the force field collapsed even as an arrow of white-gold light punched through the ship. Explosions and crackling energy started flickering around the ship— and it fell into the pit beneath it.

"Cyber Knight!" Power called. "Can you—"

"I'm locked onto 'Pulse, I'm going after him," the armored man called back. "Someone call Heartline back here, he's gonna need her help!"

Cyber Knight started up after Starpulse at several hundred miles per hour, got maybe a twentieth of the distance up— and things went nuts. Multi-colored spikes of lightning, dozens of them, maybe hundreds, flared from the point where Starpulse had just started his descent— and in a moment, they vanished, taking the glowing form of Starpulse with them.

The others stared wordlessly as Cyber Knight flew on up to where Starpulse had disappeared, hovered there for a couple of minutes— then flew back down and landed near the others.

"He's… not there," Cyber Knight said. "Nothing organic up there, I don't think he's dead, but… there were some energies, stuff I've never seen before, similar-but-different from things I've tinkered with. I think… I'm guessing, but I think he's out of our universe. Or dimension. Or, possibly, just… out of this star system. I don't know, I'm sorry, I've never seen that kind of—"

"He's not dead," Neural said. "His pain— I couldn't read his thoughts, but I got a flash of… of surprise. No fear, just big surprise."

"Will we… see him again?" Shadow Dragon asked. "I mean… will he come back?"

"He… may not want to, even if he can," Neural said. "I'm… I know something about psychology and psychiatry.

"I don't think he'd be able to stand being here, being… anywhere near this place."

For a long, long moment, no one spoke— they all just stared up at where he'd been. Finally, Armsman said softly, "Colin… be happy, man. Get over it… and be happy."

"Excuse me," said FBI Special Agent In Charge Dixon. "Is Starpulse… is he… dead?"

No one answered for a moment, then Shadow Dragon said, "To paraphrase the immortal James T. Kirk… 'list him as missing.' "

The image held on all of them, heroes and FBI agent, staring up at the spot where Starpulse had been for a minute— then it winked out.

For a moment, utter silence reigned.

Colin sobbed, once, hard, jerking his whole body as he let go of much of the guilt he'd been carrying, grabbed on to me, then Mi Kyong when she touched his shoulder, and started weeping— weeping, not crying or screaming, but _weeping,_ letting go of some of his hurt, not just expressing it.

Our friends and family didn't go away, wanting to be there if he needed them, if any of us needed them, but they all turned away, very deliberately didn't look at us as Colin finally admitted to himself that what had happened was not something that he had any right to feel so horribly guilty over… and wept in relief and release.


	16. Release, Return and Revenge

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 16: Release, Return and Revenge

Colin wept for a long time, and Mi Kyong and I wept with him— partly in sympathy, partly in horror at what he'd seen and partly in relief that he could get better now.

He stopped weeping, sat back with his head turned up to the sky and stared up at the stars for a long moment… then blew his nose, wiped his eyes (the ever-helpful Willow had floated a box of tissues over to us at some point while he wept)— and took his sweet time about kissing me and hugging Mi Kyong, watched with a small smile as we hugged each other afterwards.

"Giles?" Colin called, standing up, still holding our hands. "All of you?"

Everyone turned back to face us, and Giles said, "Yes, Colin?"

"Thank you," Colin said, his voice firm and completely steady. "All of you. You've given me— there aren't any words for what you've given me, I guess. But… thank you, all of you."

"You're very welcome, Colin," Giles said. "I'm very glad that it worked."

"Oh, of course it worked," Mom said. "Hell, Giles, the boy ain't dumb— he was dumb, it wouldn't have worked. But you can tell he ain't dumb— look who he's sittin' an' holdin' hands with."

Just like that, everyone came forward and hugged him, one at a time, in groups— and Daddy went last.

"Colin," Daddy said, "I'm glad you listened, and I'm glad that our resident comic fans were right about how your friends reacted. But mostly… I'm glad you're on the road to okay, son."

"Thank you, Whitey," Colin said, and gave Dad a fiercely tight hug. When they parted, he said, "Diane… I think I still need help. What happened… not my fault, okay, but I still feel… it still hurts. I need… I don't know how to get past it the rest of the way. Can you help?"

"I can," Diane said firmly, grinning at him. "And let me endorse Chantelle's claim that you're smart, Colin— knowing you still need help? You're very much on the ball, young man."

"Thanks," Colin said. "I… I wish I'd been able to stop that. And next time something big like that happens… I'll do better."

"You'll certainly try, I know," Giles said. "But Colin… no one is infallible."

"I know," Colin said. He dry-scrubbed his face, then said, "But I'll do better if better can be done. I'll start by asking you and Whitey and the others— all of you— for advice, then I'll do better."

"I shall certainly endeavor to help when you ask for advice," Giles said, looking very pleased. "Now… ladies and gentlemen, I believe that we have seen enough dark and hurtful things for one night. Let us table the painful, and move on to the mundane."

"One more thing," Colin said. "Willow… my friends, my family… they deserve to know that I'm alive, I'm okay and… and that I'm not alone." He squeezed my hand and I squeezed back. "I don't want to go back there, I don't think I _could_ go back to that world… but could you… send something back for me?"

"Work out what you want to send, Colin," Willow said, "and I'll find a way. With Dawn and Sh'rin on my side, it shouldn't even be too difficult."

"Okay," Colin said. "Thank you, Willow."

"You're welcome," Willow said. "Okay— Giles, the kids know we've been casting magic, I can hear them thinking about coming back out— and Helena's about to pop for wanting to know that Colin's okay. Can I tell them they can come out now?"

"Yes, of course," Giles said. "Tell them they may join us for a while before we _all_ go off to our beds."

"Colin," Mi Kyong said, as kids started trickling outside, "Armsman… he knew your real identity?"

"Yes, he did," Colin said. "You haven't read the comics about me, have you?"

"No, I saw no need," Mi Kyong said.

"Well… in the late nineties, a hero called Hardline, super-strong, super tough, always seemed… well, like a really great guy… he got caught raping a seven year-old girl," Colin said. "This led to it being discovered that he'd spent the five years of his career molesting kids he attracted by his fame, and it was the end of heroes on my world for over twenty years. People stopped trusting them at all, even though every other hero on the planet, pretty much, went after Hardline. In the wake of what he'd done… that just wasn't enough.

"Armsman had only been active for a couple of months when it happened— he was a sixteen year-old kid, back then— and he went underground with the others, even though he, Neural and Roughneck are the ones who found and caught Hardline, and Armsman got hurt trying to take the bastard down.

"Armsman… he went underground, but he never really stopped fighting, saving lives. He was just more subtle about it. Didn't use his force-weapons, just his enhanced strength and toughness, when that was enough. Never stuck around or anything, always did what needed doing and left.

"After I… after I made it so people trusted us a little again, Armsman was the first out of retirement. He came and he found me, and he thanked me for what I'd done… and we got to be friends. He… well, I'm going to miss Jason a lot. He was… well, like Whitey in some ways. Like Xander in others.

"He was the big brother I never had before I met him."

"I'm sure that Willow will work out a way for you to tell him good-bye," Mi Kyong said. "And that he will be happy, knowing you are happy."

"Yeah," Colin said, smiling as little Helena Kilpatrick yelled his name and charged across the yard towards us. "That's what really matters."

He caught Helena, hugged her, held her, assured her that he felt much better now, and we all sat outside and talked for a while.

We got everything at Buffy and Xander's packed up by Monday morning, and early Monday afternoon, we all took off for home again— after the plane had been gone over stem to stern, and Colin had decided to fly alongside the plane, because he didn't want to be inside in case Warren repeated his rocket launcher trick.

We got home without incident, and that night, Daddy pronounced me healed, took off my splint and reminded me that I was going back into training the next morning.

The next day, Tuesday, a demon showed up to taunt Buffy and Willow in Wal-Mart— and we finally got an idea of who the witch that was hassling us was.

_Three Months Before: The Sunnydale Pit_

The mid-March sun beating down on the vast pit that had once been Sunnydale, California, was a welcome relief from the near constant drizzle of the week before, and Steve Kelvin didn't mind it at all. Some of his fellow students bitched about the humidity, but with the seventy-five degree weather, it didn't feel that bad. The pools of water along the bottom of the pit were a pain, sure— they never looked deep, but you could step in one and suddenly be in water up to your waist, if you weren't careful.

The professor for the Beginning Archaeology class, Doctor Edwards, had brought the class here because, as he put it, "If you can't recover items that have only been buried for fifteen years without damaging them, you'd better re-think your major before you try to go after things that have been buried for fifteen centuries." Steve liked that— good idea, and kind of fun.

The government had gone ballistic over the Sunnydale Pit for a couple of years, made a huge to-do over it, talked of filling it in with concrete, until someone worked out the cost. Then they had talked of guarding it, of keeping people out, sealing it off for all time— and been talked down by some people from START and the senate committee that oversaw START. They'd finally just thrown up a lot of chain-link fence and razor wire, put a few guards on it… and ignored it.

Then Rose Killian's book Chosen to Stand had come out, and interest in Sunnydale went up sharply— after all, to the public's interpretation, everything that had led up to the Battle of Bloomington (and the resultant revelation of the reality of the supernatural) had started with the Battle of the First, here in Sunnydale.

People had come in droves, and the government had increased the guards. Eventually, they had started allowing tour groups, run by the State of California, and the state had built a way down. Now they ran tours through the Pit twice daily, and people showed no sign of slowing their constant migration to see a giant hole in the ground.

Then this. Last year in the fall semester, Doctor Edwards had gotten permission to do this for the first time— and again this year, this semester. Fun. Sure, different from "real" archaeology, but the man had a point; if you couldn't be careful enough to dig up things only buried for fifteen years without destroying them, you probably couldn't expect to have much of a future in field archaeology.

"Hey, Steve," Jennifer Howard called. "Come look at this— we've found some lockers, intact school lockers."

He wandered over, helped Jennifer dig up some intact school lockers, then heard a guy's voice say, "Son of a bitch!" from somewhere behind him.

Steve glanced around to see several of his fellow students gathered around a partially dug-out wooden cabinet, one of them standing and sucking on his fingers and glaring down.

"What's up?" he asked, trotting over to stand with the group of five students, all of whom stood staring down into a partially unearthed trophy cabinet.

"Thing burned me!" the guy said after pulling his fingers out of his mouth. "Look, blisters already!"

Steve looked at the blisters rising on the other student's fingers like he'd touched red-hot metal, and winced in sympathy. "Ouch— what was it?"

"I don't know," the student said. I didn't get a good look at it— some trophy in the case, there— they're all covered in mud and stuff. I dropped it when it did this, and I don't know which one it was."

"Okay, you should probably go see Doctor Edwards, he's got a first aid kit," Steve said. "You can tell him—"

A great peal of thunder interrupted Steve then, and he glanced up in surprise as the sky, clear only a moment before, darkened with thunderclouds that rolled in from the direction of the sea.

"Okay, everyone," Doctor Edwards called. "I think that's going to have to be it for the day— the bottom of the Pit can flood pretty badly when it rains, and we don't want to drown. Well, I don't— some of you might, it might be easier than seeing your grades…."

They all piled onto the tour buses and left— the buses were built for the trip down the spiral road into the Pit, half bus and half all-terrain vehicle— and never saw the thick, heavy mud wash off of the base of trophy that had burned the fingers of a student, the statue on top of the trophy lying down on the bottom of the case, having broken free of its base.

The plaque on the broken-off base of the trophy became visible as the rain hammered down.

_Sunnydale High: Tri-County Cheerleading Champions, 1981_

_Team Cap—_

The rest of the plaque had corroded beyond mere rainwater washing it clean.

The statue that had stood on top of the trophy, now broken free of its base, rocked in the mud… and began to grow.

_Jocelyn:_

Daddy worked me hard in the morning, making allowances for my recently healed leg, and no allowances past that. He ran me through every martial form, kata and dance that I know, then sparred me himself— and refused to let me wear pads, saying I'd have to avoid hurting him by controlling my techniques and my strength. Twice he caught me letting my center float when I wasn't doing Capoeira, but both times I caught myself, too, and between us, we got me to stop.

Then Daddy got creative. He had me sit down and read carefully edited versions of the Watcher's Journals, old ones from long before Buffy, stuff I hadn't read. He'd give me the basics of a situation, go over them with me, then say, "Tactics?"

I'd say the first thing I thought of, and he'd feed me more, based on my answer, then say, "Any change in tactics?" This would go on for as long as it took for Daddy to say either, "You win," "you're dead," or— and worst of all— "you're down, and the beast is still out there, killing people."

I didn't like my score, not even a little bit. I won cleanly three times out of ten, died four times— and failed to stop the monster and let it go on killing three more— seven losses, since you'd have to say it went on killing after it killed me.

I needed to be alone after that disaster, and Daddy didn't push me to talk about it, just said, "We'll pick it up again tomorrow. I'll make sure everyone knows you need some alone-time."

I went to the far edge of Giles's property, the back edge, past the little stream that ran through the back yard and into the small patch of woods back there. I sat down on the ground, put my head on my knees… and cried.

Royal followed me, and he did what he and his kind do— he crawled into my arms and loved me, totally without reserve, and that helped.

But it was still a long time before I went back to the house.

Of course, while I was busy with the self-pity, Daddy was looking for answers.

It totally fails to shock me that it was Xander who saw them.

_Interlude: Scooby Mansion, the library_

"I don't understand it, Giles, not at all," Whitey said, shaking his head and pacing. "She's better than this, she's always been better than this— and now she's… she's stopped thinking, gone to just reacting, and her first reaction is always 'hit something.' She _knows_ better, she proved that when she was ten, has proved it a lot of times since— hell, the night Colin arrived, Jocelyn did everything exactly right. You said so yourself, after hearing the tapes and the stories. Then she thought her way through rescuing Mi Kyong, and… then the debacle at the funeral home. And the exercises today— worse than I expected, much worse. I'd have thought— after the things her mother and I said to her, and especially after the way Xander nailed the problem when he talked to her, I expected her to improve, steady down. Instead, I think she's gotten worse.

"I don't understand this, Giles, and it's starting to worry me, _really_ worry me."

"I understand your concern," Giles said, looking around at Chantelle, Buffy, Xander, Willow, Lydia, Ballard, Rose and Kelly. "I share your concern, even, Whitey. But I fear I don't have any idea what could have caused this."

"I'd have said that it was worry over Colin, before last week," Buffy said. "And maybe— well, she could still be worrying over the possibility of him snapping back to his universe?"

"I'm sure that's an aggravating circumstance," Giles said, nodding. "But I don't think it's the main issue, not after Colin's promise to be careful. I've already stopped worrying about that myself."

"Yeah, the boy's seriously in love with her an' he's decided Mi Kyong's his sister," Chantelle said. "He'll bust his ass to stay here, an' he'll be as careful as the day is long.

"Could it maybe just be Alex dyin'? I mean— look, Buffy, you shone, and you too, Xander, when Mrs. Parris came in there. You didn't let your hurt mess up what you knew to do— but Jocelyn is only fourteen. Don't know if she has that kind of control yet, an' god knows she loved Alex and Chief."

"Again, I'm sure that's a contributing factor," Giles said. "But… I do not think it's the root of the problem. I can't say why, but it feels as though we're missing something, perhaps something… basic.

"Perhaps we should include Diane in this discussion, after she finishes her session with Colin."

"Maybe we should," Xander said, looking thoughtful. "But… maybe we don't have to. I have an idea about what it could be. It's nuts… but Jossie's fourteen, and at fourteen, even the best of us had moments of serious stupidity."

"Tell us, please, Xander," Giles said.

"Well… look, here's the deal…." Xander spoke for a couple of minutes, summarizing his thoughts neatly, finished with, "I realize the timing's not perfect— but the Mi Kyong rescue may have come up before things really sunk in for her, especially since it happened so fast."

"That… certainly is a possibility," Giles admitted, looked a mixture of thoughtful and frustrated. "I'd even go so far as to say a very strong possibility."

"I'm her father and her Watcher," Whitey said, dry-scrubbing his face and taking Chantelle's hand. "I don't think it's a _possibility_— I think it's damn near a _certainty_. Now what the hell do we do about it?"

"Xander, you hit it smack on the head, I think," Chantelle said, sighing and shaking her head. "I'm with Whitey, you skewered it— she's my little girl, our little girl— and you're right.

"Judas goat, batter-dipped and deep fried— what the hell do we do about this?"

"Wil?" Buffy said. "You and me see what we can find out?"

"Betcha," Willow said. "In the meantime— well, bringing Diane in, probably a good idea."

"Whitey, Jocelyn is your charge," Giles said, "and your daughter, yours and Chantelle's, so if either of you think this a bad idea, I'll allow you to veto it, no questions asked— but perhaps we should… separate her from the problem a bit, until we have a better idea of what to do?"

"No veto here," Whitey said. He looked at Chantelle with a raised eyebrow, and she shook her head. "And none from Chantelle— let's do that, until we've talked to Diane, at least."

"Very well," Giles said. "Suggestions?"

"I've got shopping to do, later," Buffy said. "Willow, Lydia and I were going to go to Wal-Mart, get some groceries, some stuff for the new house, and so on. We'll drag Jocelyn along, if she wants to go. If not, I'm sure one of you can find a way to get her away from the problem for a bit."

"Worse comes to worst, I'll offer to take her to Barnes and Noble's," Whitey said, smiling a little. "Our bookaholic child will not refuse a shot at that."

"Neither will your bookaholic wife," Chantelle said. "Hell, I almost hope she refuses to go with Buffy, Lydia and Wil."

"All right," Giles said. "Buffy, Willow, see if you can't find a solution— and the rest of us shall simply pretend this meeting never happened. I'll speak to Diane as soon as she's through speaking with Colin."

They went their separate ways, each worrying a little bit about Jocelyn— but each determined to help as best they could.

_Jocelyn:_

Eventually, I cried my frustration out, and went back to watch the newbies training. I barely got there when Buffy and Willow came out to grab Lydia and go to Wal-Mart, and Buffy asked if I wanted to go with.

"Looking for a surprise for Joyce," Buffy explained. "You always get her good presents on birthday and Christmas— I could use your advice."

I agreed, since she was willing to give me a couple of minutes to shower and get out of sweaty workout clothes, and met the three of them at the garage of Scooby Mansion fifteen minutes later. We all piled into the smallest of the hybrid SUVs out there, a Honda Hikiuma (which means "draft horse," I looked it up when Giles bought it), and started for the Wal-Mart on the far side of Bloomington, instead of the much closer one in Normal, because there was a smoke shop near the Bloomington one that had cigarettes for Dad (he doesn't smoke _much,_ so Mom doesn't beat the habit out of him) and some incense that Willow needed for her magic supplies. Our pseudo dragon friends stayed home, since Wal-Mart is all anal about small, scaly people with wings.

We did the smoke shop first, put Dad's monthly carton of cigarettes and Willow's incense in the console, and went to Wal-Mart. Once there, Lydia, Willow and Buffy each grabbed carts, and Lydia started for hardware and sporting goods to get supplies for training newbies, Willow headed for the grocery section to do the grocery shopping for her and Lydia and grab some things for Giles and Kelly, and Buffy and I headed for the electronics section.

We poked and we looked, and Buffy bought the newest Resident Evil game for Xander (that series of games is older than me by a lot— Mom says that the whole revelation of the supernatural reality really revived it in 2003), almost grabbed the wrong version until I pointed out that Xander has a Nintendo Tesseract, and that she had the version for the X-Box 1080. Then we poked around for a few minutes, and I saw Joyce's present, if Buffy would spend the money.

"Oh, honey," I said. "Come to mama!"

Buffy looked at me oddly, but followed as I went to the counter that had the newest SoundMaster MP3 player on it. Small, sleek, no moving parts, and a battery guaranteed to last through fifty hours of continuous play, with a space for a single triple-A battery backup, which would play for six more hours. That way, you didn't have to worry about your main battery going dead, so you didn't charge it before it ran dry, so it didn't degrade and hold less power, like they'd used to. Ten terabytes of storage, literally weeks of music or audio books. Add in wireless, sturdy and steady ear-clip headphones guaranteed not to suffer any static or distortion within twenty feet of the player, and it was just about made for the Slayer who liked to train to music. As much as Joyce loved music? Yeah, it would be perfect.

"There's her present, Buffy," I said firmly. "I know, she's got an MP3 player already— but this is the Lamborghini of MP3 players, and it's Slayer training friendly. Also, hers is what, five, six years old?"

"Hmm, good point," Buffy said. "You think she'd like this?"

"I think she'll love it… and if you buy her something that says, 'Hey, this is training-friendly' right now?" I nodded firmly. "Buffy, that'll say that you're really okay with her training, with her being a Slayer."

Buffy gave me a funny look, but nodded. "I see your point, Jocelyn. Okay, let's get someone over here to get one out for us…."

The salesman got one out for Buffy, and told her about the deal Wal-Mart had going with SoundMaster right then— SoundMaster gift cards were literally half-price, no limit on size. Buffy grinned at him, said, "Sold— give me a two hundred dollar gift card, too."

The salesman blinked, but nodded and set up the card, had Buffy pay for the things there (security, don't'cha know), told her she could carry it around the store it so long as she didn't lose her receipt, and we went to find Wil and Lydia.

"Thanks, Jocelyn," Buffy said as we wandered through the ladies clothing on our way to the grocery section. "Definitely a good choice— and hey, the big gift card ought to keep her going until at least Christmas!"

"You're welcome," I said. "You can pay me back for the hint, you know."

"Tell your folks you want one for your birthday?" Buffy asked, and I nodded eagerly. "Done deal. They are nice— wireless, that's perfect for us hyper-active women."

Buffy found a couple of T-shirts for Joyce to work out in, a pair of sweats for herself, and we finally got out into the wide aisle that separated the rest of the store from the grocery section.

We were walking along that aisle towards the back of the store, looking down grocery aisles for Willow, when Lydia caught up with us, her cart loaded with sports gloves, baseball bats in aluminum and wood, multi-tools (I have one, and love it— carrying them on missions is standard protocol nowadays, they're too useful not to), dart sets, inexpensive, fiberglass-bow archery sets, all sorts of stuff. We all kept going towards the back of the store and the frozen food department, walking and chatting idly— until we heard a woman scream, then a bunch of people of both sexes start screaming.

At that point, we started running.

_Three Months Before: Los Angeles, California_

Clothes had been easy. She'd simply flown away from the pit, taken clothes from the first unoccupied house she found, made them fit magically. Money, also easy— she'd gone to LA, found a bank, and simply waited for a man with a largish deposit bag to approach. Intercepting the man, controlling his mind… very easy. She didn't even need diagrams and ingredients any more, not for simple spells like these. Her constant efforts at escaping her long imprisonment had drastically improved her skills and increased her power— so at least _some_ good had come from that disaster.

But there had been a shock in the deposit bag. She'd known she'd been imprisoned for a long time, and the new looks of the cars and other vehicles, the way they ran almost silently more often than not, had driven home that thought— but the deposit slip in the bag had been dated the nineteenth of March… of twenty-eighteen!?

Twenty-one _years_…!

So she'd taken the cash in the bag— over seventy thousand dollars, this was a Monday, and the deposit bag held a whole weekend's worth of cash from a bar— made the man forget her, planted memories of being robbed by a pair of Hispanic teenagers, and gone to find out what she'd missed.

A hotel and a few thousand dollars worth of clothes later, she'd gone strolling into a bookstore, thinking that there would probably be books that could help her out in there. She'd found several books on the history of the last two decades, gone towards the front to pay for them— and frozen in shock at the display of books near the register, the current New York Times bestsellers.

The book at number twenty froze her in place, froze her in absolute shock.

Chosen to Stand: An Account of Life as a Slayer, by Rose Erin Killian.

_But the Slayer operates in secret,_ she thought. _I heard them talking about it, sometimes, back when… back_ then. _So what's going on here…?_

She added that to her purchases, paid, and went back to her hotel to read. She'd been going to start with the history books, but she did look at Chosen to Stand, first— and that changed everything, as soon as she read the teaser copy on the dust jacket's inside flaps.

_Just before Christmas of 2003, the world was forced to admit the existence of the supernatural when the twin cities of Bloomington-Normal, Illinois suffered a sudden infestation of supernatural creatures. While the process had been building since October of that year (beginning with the incursion of a great many monsters straight out of the popular fantasy role-playing game Dungeons and Dragons into Bloomington High School), it peaked on the evening of December the 22nd of 2003 with mass incursions of vampires, demons and monsters— and the world saw the creatures that have lived in the night and shadows for millennia as these creatures answered the call of a psychotic young witch obsessed with revenge._

_At the same time, we learned of the existence of the Slayers, the girls called to oppose these horrors, and given the power to do so._

_This is the story of the events that led up to the Battle of Bloomington, told by a Slayer who had a key part in the war against the witch Amy Madison. It is a story of love, hate, tragedy, triumph, failure and success— and it is as entertaining as it is informative._

_This is the story of those who fought, who held a line against evil, of those who are… _

_Chosen to Stand!_

She stared in disbelief for a long moment— then dropped to a chair and started reading, forgetting all other concerns.

She fell asleep reading, woke ravenous, ordered food from room service, read while she ate, and finished the book at about four in the afternoon the next day.

She closed the book, set it aside, doubled over, and wept for almost an hour.

_I'll make you pay!_ she thought as she rocked and wept. _I'll make all of you pay! All of you!_

_But Willow Rosenberg and Buffy Summers… they will die so horribly that all the Slayers who hear about it will just… quit!_ Quit, _for fear I'll do it to them!_

She tidied herself, steadied down as best she could, and started in on the history books, the better to be able to kill those responsible for her pain.

_Jocelyn:_

We all three sprinted towards the back of the store, not worrying much about Willow— most powerful witch in the _world,_ hello?— but worried about everyone else.

The screams came from the aisle with the cleaning supplies— and seemed to be because of a small, delicate-looking teen-aged girl who stood on one side of the aisle, pulling bottles and cans of various cleaning solutions off of the shelves and throwing them at people with an accuracy worthy of me or Mom.

"Hey!" Buffy yelled. "What the hell are you doing!?"

The girl smiled a sunny, happy smile, flung a bottle of Pine-sol at Buffy (who caught it neatly), and said, "I'm stating the intent of she who summoned me, Buffy Summers. Or at least, I'll be stating it as soon as Willow Rosenberg arrives."

"Oh, shit," Buffy muttered. She looked around at me and Lydia and said, "Okay— you two stay right here. No following, no trying to help— don't you move. That is an _order_. You follow it, or so help me, I'll kick both your asses."

"Yes, Buffy," I said meekly. "Better hand me Joyce's present— don't want it to get broken."

Buffy gave me a quirky little smile, handed me the bag with Joyce's SoundMaster and gift card, and turned to face the… girl?

"Okay, I'm here," Buffy said, taking several quick steps forward. "Talk to me. Start with a name, that'd be friendly."

"But the witch-bitch is not here yet," the girl-thing said, sounding regretful. "I may speak only to the two of you, not to either, but to both."

"Yeah, okay," Buffy sighed. She threw her head back and yelled, "Hey, Willow! Demon on aisle twelve!"

From behind us, Lydia and I heard, "I'm coming, Buffy!"

There came Willow, pushing a cart full of groceries and blushing a little.

"Sorry," she muttered as she went towards Buffy. "Potty break."

"Everybody takes those," Buffy said, smiling a little. She waited until Willow had left her cart with Lydia and I and floated over to hover beside her, then said, "Okay, we're here. So what's your message and who's it from?"

The girl shifted in place a little— and started to grow. Her skin seemed to stretch and darken at the same time, and horns punched through the skin of her forehead as her jaws distended. Very suddenly, all her clothes and her human skin just… ripped off, like a rubber suit stretched to its limits and beyond. Standing there after that was a seven and a half foot tall demon with dark red skin, bull-like horns sprouting from its forehead, big tits with dark nipples— and the twenty-foot-long body of a snake from the hips down.

"Better," it said, its voice still high and girlish. "Now I give my message.

"My mistress sends you both greetings— for you should always say hello before you say good-bye, and soon, you will say good-bye… to all the world. She will kill you both— but first she will finish what another has started, and she will take from you all that you love. The families and lovers of both of you will die one at a time— and you will not prevent her.

"This she swears, in the name of that which you took from her— her only child.

"To Buffy Summers, who broke the spell that might have protected her child, my mistress promises that she will, once you are gone, do as her child failed to do, and return the First Evil to the world.

"To Willow Rosenberg my mistress promises only that you will live for as long as she can arrange it… as a worm, or a cockroach, or some other loathsome creature. She will change your form and make you live— rather than changing your form and killing you, as you did to her child."

"Oh, shit," I muttered. "This is not something we needed to hear right now!"

"Okay, Medusa," Buffy said with a sigh. "Message delivered. Now what?"

"Now… the taking begins!"

The demon burst into motion, charged towards Buffy and Willow, aiming to go around them, to come at me and Lydia— and I did something right, that time. I grabbed Lydia, ignored her indignant squawk as I threw her over my shoulder and ran like a bat out of hell for the front doors, thinking to get to the SUV, where we'd have some protection, as well as weapons to choose from.

I'd only gone about halfway when I heard a sound like rice cereal crackling in milk, only way louder— and Lydia said, "It's dead— or at least contained. Can you put me down now?"

I didn't answer, but kept going— until Buffy called, "It's all right, Jocelyn— stand down."

I stopped, set Lydia down, and in response to her glare said, "Hey, Buffy's the boss. And by the way… nice butt!"

Lydia tried to keep glaring— but lost the glare when she laughed at that last bit.

We went back to where Willow and Buffy stood next to the frozen demon— literally frozen, covered in ice from horns to tail-tip. Willow was already muttering a spell, walking around the demon and muttering while she did so. Just before we got there, the thing vanished in a flash of fire, and a bunch of people started clapping.

"You know," Buffy said as we watched the store manager bustling towards us, "I'd give a lot to have an enemy stay dead about now."

"I hear you," Willow said with a sigh. "I think she's a lot more powerful than she was back in those days, now. That demon, no lightweight. The one that possessed Mrs. Parris, also fighting in the heavyweight division. And the one she tried to summon that got Colin instead? Balagor? That's the sort of thing I'd never have tried to summon back before… before I brought you back, Buffy."

"Yay," Buffy said. "So… Amy's mom."

"Yeah," Willow said. "Amy's mom."

"Catherine Madison," I said with a sigh. "More powerful and crazier than before.

"Buffy, can I transfer to Australia if somebody manages to bring back Mayor Wilkins?"


	17. Unholy Alliances

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 17: Unholy Alliances

"Buffy, can I transfer to Australia if somebody manages to bring back Mayor Wilkins?" I asked.

We'd just discovered that the witch who had inadvertently caused Colin to be summoned to our world and who had sent the mother of a Slayer who died in the Battle of Bloomington to kill Buffy was Catherine Madison, who had been thought dead since long before her daughter, Amy, almost destroyed the world. I was feeling a lot worried about so-called dead and gone enemies, right then.

"Not unless you promise to take me with you," Buffy said. She sighed and stepped forward to deal with the manager of the Wal-Mart where Catherine Madison's most recently summoned demon had delivered its message of Madison's intent to kill Buffy and metaphysically torture Willow, then tried to kill either Willow's girlfriend, Lydia, or me. Or, on second thought, probably both of us. "In fact, we could leave now…."

I watched as Buffy dealt with the store manager, easing his ruffled feathers by paying for all damaged merchandise (mostly broken bottles of cleaning solution), and explaining who she was and what we'd done. The manager was as impressed as most civilians are by us Slayer-types, and accepted what she said. The cops who came out… less nice. Oh, they didn't make actual trouble, but they were obviously of that majority of local police who thought we Slayers were nothing but vigilantes and troublemakers, and only cooperated with us because it was required of them. Buttheads.

We went home after paying for the groceries and training supplies, and Buffy called a meeting of all non-trainee Slayers, all Watchers and Guardians as soon as we got home. I hesitated, thinking that since Daddy had taken me off the active list because of my sudden issues with thinking things through, I shouldn't go, but Buffy said, "Come on, Jocelyn— you're good with the intel, I want you along."

I went, and I sat and I listened, and I tried to just… let my brain go out of focus, like I had when I'd figured out that the problem was Warren.

Catherine Madison had been the second problem that Buffy had dealt with after her move to Sunnydale. The woman had once been the captain of a champion Sunnydale cheerleading team, and had come in conflict with Buffy and the Scooby Gang when, in Buffy's sophomore year at Sunnydale High, she'd swapped bodies with her teen-aged daughter, Amy, in order to try and recapture her glory days as a cheerleader using Amy's body. She'd been defeated, and they thought her dead— but, Buffy admitted, they hadn't known what the spell that was meant to hit Buffy and that had been deflected back on Catherine Madison actually did.

Giles suggested that it might have been some sort of banishment, but Willow said that wasn't likely— if she'd been banished to another dimension, either she'd have come back much sooner, or not at all.

"I really don't know what it might have been," Willow said after shooting down Giles's theory. "It won't be easy to find out, since I can't get at anything of the physical location for a retrocognition spell, since the physical location? Pretty much not physical anymore. I'll see what I can do… maybe a variant on what we did for Colin would work, but it would be actually harder since Catherine's magic would probably interfere with the magic of the spell— like two signals on frequencies that are really close. Messy. I'll get to work, though."

"All right, thank you, Willow," Giles said. "Does anyone else have any thoughts?"

"Um, maybe," I said. Everyone turned to look at me, and I got flustered. "It's maybe stupid, but— not a witch, so I don't know."

"Let us hear it," Xander said in a relaxed voice. "Can't be any worse than my only idea, which, for your amusement, I tell you is that she time jumped to get past Buffy, and is pissed to find out that Buffy's still here and that Amy went crazy and had to be stopped… permanently. Of course, since she was aiming the spell at Buffy in the first place… not so likely."

"That's not all that crazy," I said. "Even if it's not likely, it's not nuts. But… look, she'd already done body-swapping once. What if she did it again, and it went not-right, and it took her years to get actual control of whoever she jumped into? She might have meant to put Buffy in her body, even, and her in Buffy's— giving her Buffy's body to work with. Well… what happens when you swap bodies with… yourself?"

"That's not impossible, Jocelyn," Willow said, smiling at me. "It's not real likely, but it's not impossible. I'll definitely look into that, thanks."

"Yes, it's an interesting question," Giles mused. "What _would_ happen if you attempted to exchange bodies with another, and the spell was reflected back on you?"

The meeting broke up, and I went off with Aunt Elaine to help her pack— she and Uncle Ballard and family were getting ready for their annual vacation on the Asimov Space Station, where they'd stay at the Hilton there, and she'd toy with zero-g dance stuff, looking for something else worthy of filming in the wake of Dance the Heavens Home.

While we were packing, Aunt Elaine asked, "Jocelyn… you remember how I didn't get you a Christmas present last year? Said it'd be late?"

"Sure, I remember," I said. "I'm still a kid, Aunt Elaine— I never forget a present. Is it time?"

"It is," Aunt Elaine said. She gave me a slow, sweet smile, one that said she was about to hit me with something marvelous, and said, "Seems I'll not be buying Colin a present this year, either, or Mi Kyong— I'll probably use their birthdays for skips. Ballard and Rose are telling them about it about now."

"Okay, now you have me all hyper-interested," I admitted. "What's up?"

"Well… your mom is packing for you, right about now," Aunt Elaine said— and didn't say anything else.

I'm horribly stupid. It took me several seconds to get it. I stared at her, all uncomprehending, for maybe ten seconds— and then it clicked.

"Oh… my… GOD!" I cried. "Aunt Elaine, you can't mean— are you serious?"

"I can mean," Aunt Elaine said, hugging me hard. "And I'm very serious.

"You're coming with us, Jocelyn— you and Colin and Mi Kyong, if they aren't scared of the idea. Given that Colin spent time flying in space just for the fun of it, back on his world… I'm thinking he'll come for sure."

I couldn't speak, I was too hyper-excited and happy to even think of the right words— so I just hugged her more until the words came.

"That's an awful lot of money, Aunt Elaine," I finally said. "I think you'd better skip my birthday and Christmas again this year, at least!"

"Bug dung," Aunt Elaine said cheerfully. "Sweetie, I'm filthy-sickening-foul-disgusting-stinking rich. I don't think I'd be able to actually ever spend the money I made off of Dance the Heavens Home, even if I actually tried. So… you get birthday and Christmas presents, and you smile and hug me and thank me— and you say not another word about it, or I show you what happens when an older Slayer who's been doing Capoeira since before you were born decides to kick your butt.

"Next year, I'll take Stephen, and Belinda and Danielle the year after. Robin went with us last year, and I'll get around to everyone who wants to come, eventually. I… I thought about asking Joyce, but… not yet. Not now. Next year, very probably."

"I love you, you over-generous-aunt-type-lady," I said, and hugged her again.

"I love you, too, super-sweet-niece-type-girl," she said. "Now… with things being so tense, we aren't staying as long this year— just two weeks, as opposed to the usual month. So we'll be here for the Fourth of July picnic and stuff.

"After Alex… the kids need to get away, and we didn't want to wait, so… shorter trip and sooner, this year."

"Wow," I said, and hugged her again. "Two weeks in space— Aunt Elaine, thank you! I… maybe the time away will let me relax some, too."

"Yeah, everyone's a mess, right now," she said. After a hesitation, she added, "Honey, if you need to talk about… well, anything, and can't or just don't _want_ to talk to your folks… I'm here. And I'm good with the secrets and stuff."

"I know, Aunt Elaine," I said. "It's good to know— but I don't want to talk about it, not yet. I'm not sure… look, I'm not totally sure why what's messing me up is messing me up now, even. I need to— crap."

"You need to understand it before you try to talk about it," Aunt Elaine said, her eyes on mine.

"Yes," I said, breathing a sigh. "Yes, in a nutshell."

"No problem," she said. "And hey, if it's not me you talk to when you're ready, that's cool— so long as you do talk about it."

"I will," I said. "When I know how, I will."

About that time, Royal scratched on the balcony door of the room we were in, and I grinned and let him in. He perched on my shoulder and sent, _*I understand we are going into space. I am going to have to insist that no pictures or video be taken of me flying until I have accustomed myself to lower gravity. The indignity… Glitter is a better dragon than I, to bear it so well._*

"Uh, Royal, most pseudo dragons hate the crap you have to go through to go into space," I pointed out. "Are you sure…?"

(Pseudo dragons have to be drugged into sleep, then arranged carefully in heavy foam padding in these funky boxes, to that they don't get damaged by acceleration. Only Aunt Rose's friend Glitter and Linnea's friend Lightning consistently made the trip with them.)

_*Of course I'm sure,*_ Royal sent. He gave me a smug look (pseudo dragons are _very_ good at looking smug) and added, *_We are all going this time, even the hatchlings— because we do not have to deal with the heavy acceleration of normal space travel at all._*

"Huh?" I said. "Now wait a second—"

*_Silly girl,_* Royal sent. _*Ballard, brilliant and generous as he is, saw a simple solution._

_*Jocelyn, Ballard has had made a simple airtight and vacuum-safe shelter that is moderately aerodynamic, equipped with an air supply sufficient to our needs— and a very strong cable for Colin to hold onto while he pulls us up to space._*

I gawped at him, for a moment, then slowly grinned. "Uncle Ballard is a genius!"

_*Yes, I said he was brilliant and I meant it,*_ Royal sent. _*Since Colin doesn't have to attain escape velocity in a sudden burst, not being limited by fuel concerns, we need never suffer the crush of acceleration that you humans have to deal with._*

"The only hard part was convincing the shuttle service to give us access to the cargo airlock with no questions asked," Aunt Elaine said, grinning. "We tossed enough money at the Lockheed Space Operations people— and the hard part became easy."

"Oh, _cool!"_ I gushed. "I get to go to space, and my best friend can come without hassles!

"Colin is getting _so_ laid tonight!"

That cracked Aunt Elaine up, and she laughed so hard that she had to sit down.

I hugged Royal and cuddled him for a minute— then helped Aunt Elaine finish packing.

_Interlude: St. Louis, Missouri, just after dark_

Catherine Madison came out of the restaurant where she'd had a wonderful dinner, looked around, and saw two people approaching her… purposefully. She readied a defensive spell, just in case they were affiliated with the Slayers and had found her somehow, and simply waited for them a few feet to the left of the restaurant entrance.

She watched the two approach, both looking comfortable and relaxed, very non-threatening. The man was tall, and looked a lot like the actor who'd played the love interest in the show Amy had loved so much when she was… twelve? Thirteen? My So Called Life, that was the name of the show. His auburn hair was short, neatly cut, and he looked reasonably muscular. The girl… twentyish, maybe? Sunshine-blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, startlingly dark blue-gray eyes, and absolutely gorgeous features, cheekbones high and prominent, a beautiful bow of a mouth, and a delicately pointed chin.

"Hello," the man said. "This may sound a little odd, but… my friend here said that you share a goal with us, and I thought we might talk about helping each other achieve that goal."

"You're right, it sounds a little odd," Catherine said. "What goal is it that your friend thinks we share?"

"Well, that's not something that's easy to put any sort of delicately," the man said, smiling the kind of smile that often made people nervous. "So… I guess I'll just put it bluntly.

"We want to kill Buffy Summers— Buffy Harris, now— and pretty much everyone around her."

"Oh, well," Catherine said, smiling a smile much like that of the man, "in that case… let's go somewhere and talk, shall we?"

Ten minutes later, the three of them sat in the back room of a small, pleasant bar, just the three of them in a room made for as many as thirty— but the owner had been very willing to let them have to themselves once Warren had handed him a hundred dollars. A waitress had brought them a half carafe of wine for the ladies and a large glass of beer for the man, told them to press the service button she left them if they needed her, and gone away.

"Okay," Warren said, "let me explain what I have in mind, and if you like it, we can introduce ourselves then. If not… no names, less risk."

"Reasonable," Catherine said. "Cautious. I like it. Please, go on."

"Okay," Warren said. "First, to explain how we got here, found you. My companion here occasionally has visions of the past, present or the future, often fairly detailed and— so far— very accurate. She had a vision of you performing a spell which summoned a demon that possessed a woman who attacked Buffy Harris at her son's visitation. In the same vision, she saw you doing a couple of other things, all from a distance. I like that— good tactics, lets you keep your anonymity and strike again later.

"I made that attack at the visitation possible— I'm the one who killed Alex Harris. And it occurred to me, after my friend here had her vision, that we might accidentally get in each other's way while trying to kill Buffy and company. So… look, if we work together, we can probably be more effective. You cover a hole in my setup nicely, and I can cover the other end of things for you. With my companion providing us intelligence via her visions… we could be very hard to stop."

"I… see," Catherine said slowly. "Well… what hole will I be covering? And what is the other end that you will cover for me?"

"I can't do magic," Warren said. "Not at all, not a drop. Used to be able to, even if I wasn't an expert— but now? Nothing. At all.

"As for what I bring to the table… I'm a technician. An inventor. I'm a genius." He said the words without undue pride, in a matter-of-fact tone. "I can build things pretty far past the standard technology in several fields."

"I shouldn't think that would be enough to prevent you from doing magic at all," Catherine said. "All living beings— defining life as anything animated by a soul, demon or higher being— can perform magic. Ritual magic, at least, not the more… innate kind that I can do."

"I may not actually have a soul," Warren admitted. "If not… I don't miss it. I'm… not human anymore. Not by the standard definition, anyway."

"Then… what are you?" Catherine asked, intrigued.

In reply, Warren laid his arm on the table, palm up, and ran his thumb along the middle of his forearm. A soft beep sounded, and his arm folded open neatly, the skin separating along lines that Catherine would have sworn weren't there the moment before.

Underneath were dozens of wires around an articulated metallic skeleton.

"Let's just say that Superman isn't the real man of tomorrow, shall we?" Warren said. "I'm still a person— I'm just… non-organic, now."

"Oh, my," Catherine said, sounding interested. "How was this done?"

"I've been a robotics fiend my whole life," Warren said. "I got really, really good at it and I… let's just say that, back then I had… issues. I wasted my talent on some pretty stupid stuff.

"Eventually, I hooked up with a couple of other guys who had unusual talents, and we came into conflict with Buffy Summers. She humiliated me, hurt me, stopped me from something… that would have made me rich. So I decided to kill her.

"Now, I used to have issues with impulse control, but I wasn't so stupid as to go off to kill the Slayer without taking precautions. I had a robotic body all ready, and I duped my consciousness into it before going after Buffy. Things went wrong, I didn't kill Summers— but I did kill Willow Rosenberg's girlfriend. An accident, but hey— shit happens.

"To make a long story short, Willow saved Buffy's life, then killed me. Not happy about that… but I'd turn away from killing her to kill Buffy."

"And I'd pass up a chance at killing Buffy to kill Willow," Catherine said. "This does look… promising.

"However, I'd like to know what your companion gets from all of this."

"That's simple," the girl said, smiling a rather predatory smile. "I help him, and you if you join us, with the visions I have and in return, we make sure that someone else dies, someone affiliated with Buffy and the others, someone whose death will hurt her, making her hurt more before she dies.

"She turned a friend of mine, a man I loved— I was in a sorry state when I loved him, but I did love him— against me, against all he ever was."

The girl's watch beeped, and she held up a finger, shut off the alarm, and took a pill from a small bottle she pulled from a pocket.

"Sorry," she said, after washing the pill down with some wine. "I'm… without the pills, I'm not at all sane. I like being sane— so I'm religious about my pills.

"So… what I get from this is the death of Buffy Summers— and before she dies, I get the death of Angel Kilpatrick."

"What did Angel Kilpatrick do that makes you want to kill him?" Catherine asked.

"He made me a vampire," the girl said, looking into her wineglass. "But before he did that… he deliberately and very effectively drove me completely insane. If not for my friend, here, I'd be talking to the moon and mutilating dolls right now, bloody likely."

"Honey, your accent is showing," Warren said mildly. "Remember, that could mark you as easily as your old looks."

"Sorry," the girl said, sounding completely Midwestern American again. She looked at Catherine, said, "So there it is. We can all help each other… if you're interested."

"Yes, I do believe I am," Catherine said, smiling. "I think we three could be very effective at slaughtering those bitches and all of their little friends.

"I'm Catherine Madison. Amy Madison was my daughter."

"Wow," Warren said. "Yeah, makes sense you'd want them dead, too.

"I'm Warren Mears, and my friend here is Drusilla Maddox."

They sat, and they talked, and they planned until the bar closed around them.

_Jocelyn:_

Let me tell you about space travel in one word; uncomfortable.

The couches are nice, and they're comfortable— gel or water padded, really soft upholstery, all that jazz. Then you launch, and comfortable is a thing of the far-away, long-ago, distant past.

I weighed one hundred and six pounds the day we went to space. Well, at launch time, I suddenly weighed seven hundred and forty-two pounds. Now, properly braced, I can pick up a good bit more than that— but that doesn't mean I like _weighing_ that much! Not at _all!_ In fact, I hated it.

I made no complaint, not at all. The non-Slayers of the group had to feel it worse, and _they_ didn't complain!

I did, however, wish I'd ridden with the pseudo dragons!

On the flipside, once we were in zero gravity, I experienced no physical illness— I didn't get spacesick. Aunt Sh'rin, Nathaniel and Linnea asked for injections to prevent it beforehand, saying that they only ever needed the one, to counter the initial shock, then they felt fine. Me, I skipped it, promised the stewardess I'd ask for it if I felt at all queasy, and meant it— but I never felt queasy.

Now, disoriented is another story. When up and down go away, it's kind of hard to get your bearings. It took me three tries to get myself situated near the portal that looked out on the earth for the first little while of the journey… but, oh, thank the Powers, it was worth it! The brief trip up with Colin had been better, both because I was in his arms and because we hadn't been so high, and the Earth had filled my vision. But still… our world is so beautiful that it _hurts,_ when you look at her from space.

I watched the Earth turn slowly and majestically until I heard the door to the cargo compartment open— and suddenly, there was a storm of tumbling pseudo dragons in the compartment— and all of us found ourselves laughing hysterically. Even the stewardess had to grab on to a handhold and hang on while she laughed.

Six adults, eight not-adults, counting Colin, Mi Kyong and I, so… fourteen pseudo dragons. Only two of them had made more than one trip into space— and the other twelve most definitely did not have their space-legs yet. Every flap of their wings pushed them as much (relative to their position) up as it did forward, more so, even, without gravity to turn it all to forward motion.

After a bit, Royal made it to me, wrapped his tail around my wrist and let me pull him close and cuddle him.

_*This,*_ Royal sent, *_is going to take some getting used to— but I think… I think I like it. It's… more free than normal flight, even._*

"I'm going to have to get used to it, too, sweetie," I said. "So… we can adapt together. And you, at least, can get telepathic hints from Glitter and Lightning."

_*A good point,*_ Royal said. _*They are going to work at helping us all once we get to the space station._*

The stewardess came by about then, asked if Royal wanted a dragon-space-sick preventative, and he grinned at her and shook his head.

"I didn't really think you would," she said, scratching Royal's chin in a fashion that said she'd known a few pseudo dragons in her time. "I've noticed that most of you people only get spacesick if your human friends do. Since this young lady seems fine, I didn't think you'd want anything. Nice to be right."

"This is Royal," I said. "And I'm Jocelyn."

"I'm Marta," she replied. "Pleasure to meet you. And… Royal? As in the Royal who was part of the first litter hatched here?"

_*I am that Royal, yes,*_ he sent, including her. _*I am glad I was born here— Glitter's tales of her other world… this one can be dangerous, but not so constantly and continuously.*_

_*Besides, Jocelyn is perfect in nearly every way. If I could only get her to nap more…._*

"You are definitely not a counterfeit pseudo dragon," Marta said. "My brother has a friend of your species, and he practically lives to curl up on a nice warm human and take a nap."

_*I am surprised_ you _do not have a companion of my kind,_* Royal said. *_I like you._*

"Thank you, Royal," Marta said. "But I've tried to avoid it. It wouldn't be fair to a dragon or to me, because I'm on a four week rotation— four weeks up here, four weeks down there. I couldn't ask a pseudo dragon to make that sort of journey constantly, it wouldn't be fair— it's much harder on you folks, usually. And I'll have you know, I'm damned curious about how you got up here— but the bonus for not asking is scary, so I'll bite my tongue."

_*A wise decision,*_ Royal said. _*A large bonus will allow you to retire sooner, which will allow you to have a companion of my kind sooner._*

"Damned skippy!" Marta said with a laugh, and went off to see if anyone else wanted anything. (And to meet everyone's pseudo dragon.)

A couple of minutes later I found myself seated between Colin and Mi Kyong, being snuggled by him and our dragon pals while Mi Kyong sat and talked to us both. Nifty!

We got to Asimov Station about four in the afternoon by our personal clocks, after having taken a chartered flight to Orlando the day before, stayed in a hotel in Cape Canaveral (the town) overnight, and gotten to Robert A. Heinlein Spaceport about eight in the morning for an eleven o'clock shuttle up to Asimov Station. (Colin and the pseudo dragons left from a secluded beach location an hour before that, so that they'd be in position to meet up with us.)

That space station is just freaking COOL! A giant donut with even more giant sprinkles is what it looks like— or like a giant donut with Lego blocks of various sizes and shapes sticking out of it, maybe. (Okay, I'm not a space architect— sue me!)

We docked and went inboard, and I got gravity back, though much reduced. The pseudo dragons were mostly relieved, even if it was just a third of normal gravity.

"All right," called Marta, who had apparently been assigned as our guide for the duration of our stay (turns out she did several jobs up there, depending on need). "Three of you have never been here before, and one of you… well, Autumn, congratulations on being Chosen, kiddo— but it means you're going to have to be careful all over again, because your body will have to adapt to conditions here now that you're stronger and faster.

"The rest of you… be careful. Small steps, no running or jumping, not until you've had time to get used to things. Think about walking, like you've been sick and are recovering. Pseudo dragons… those of you who've not been here in a long time or ever before, please, stay with your humans for right now, we have safe areas for you to practice flying in various gravity fields.

"For those of you who haven't been here before, here are some simple rules of low-gee traffic…."

She went over everything, the rules of right of way in low-gee and especially zero-gee, as we all walked slowly to the Hilton. The corridors on the way there were all solid walls, but the hotel itself…. wow. It was built under a great big dome, and the dome was, of course, oriented towards the middle of the ring of the station, to keep down as down— but the sides of the station where the hotel was had been replaced with clear material, too… and the view of naked space took our breaths away.

We got settled in, and Marta gathered all us newbies— me, Colin, Mi Kyong and, because of her new physicality, Autumn, in the living room and said, "Before you all relax and roam, Ballard and his family wanted me to talk to all of you about zero-gee movement lessons. You can't start today, and not too soon after breakfast— so how does ten o'clock tomorrow morning sound?"

We all agreed, though Colin said, "I may surprise you with those— is there such a thing as an early passing, or something?"

"Oh, sure— everyone learns at different speeds." Marta grinned, and said, "I've seen people take two hours to master it, or just… totally fail. But let me note that everyone I've ever known who totally failed to learn to move in zero-gee also depended on anti nausea drugs— and none of you needed them. My personal bet is you'll all have it by the end of classes tomorrow— last class ends at supper time. Once you've passed zero-gee movement, you go to vacuum suit operations— and all of you get the full course, Ballard's orders. He wants you to be able to go EVA with him and his family without a station guide tethered to you."

"Sweet!" I said, and Marta grinned at me.

"Yeah, I thought you'd like it. You have the look, Jocelyn."

"The look?" I said. "What look?"

"Well, I shouldn't have singled you out," she said. "Mi Kyong has it, too. The look is that expression on your face that says, 'I've wanted to come here since I was a little bitty thing, dreamed about it— and now that I'm here, I can hardly believe that it's _living up to my expectations!'_

"Colin, you don't have that— you have the gleam. The gleam being the 'I've come home again' gleam. You've been in space before, yes?"

"Yes, I have," he said over Mi Kyong and I laughing at how totally Marta had skewered us. "I will still take the classes— I'm not used to a spacesuit, and… well, I need to learn to move your way, not mine."

"Good deal," Marta said. "Now, Ballard and company have plans for you guys for the evening, so I'll be back tomorrow at nine-thirty, and we'll head for the Zero Bubble."

Zero-gee movement… well, it took a lot of work, more for me than the others— I didn't ace the test until right before supper. I'm not going to try and explain it all here— I could fill a book!— but let's just say that a lifetime of reflexes have to be overridden. Ugh!

But, just before six the next evening, I made a full trip around the maze set up in the Zero Bubble (a two hundred and fifty foot diameter bubble built straight out from the axis of Asimov Station, made of a plastic-like stuff that could be polarized to keep out the view of space for classes), passing through hoops, around free-floating walls and boxes, bouncing off of colored-spotlight targets shone on various points of the bubble, and generally moving like a grasshopper on acid. I made in ten seconds under the required time, no bobbles or gaffes— then launched myself at Marta for a hug. She'd been very patient with me, worked hard to teach me— Colin had passed before lunch (BIG surprise), and Autumn with him, Mi Kyong by an hour after lunch— but Marta stuck with it the extra four hours it took me. She deserved a hug!

"Okay, that was a pass," Marta said, hugging back. (And zero-gee hugs are much more close-contact than normal— you have to use your legs, too, to make it work). "Good deal, Jocelyn. So… tomorrow morning, right after breakfast, we start all of you but Autumn on vacuum suit operations. Two days of that, if you pass the first time, and you can go EVA without being tied to me or another guide."

"Sweet!" I said, and kissed her cheek. "Thanks, Marta!"

"You're very welcome," she said. "Now— better scoot, if you're going to shower and be ready for dinner. See you in the morning."

Two days later, I was passed for minimal-supervision EVA, and that I got right the first time— Daddy had drilled into me a long time before that that you always, _always_ respected and took care of your equipment, which attitude helped a lot.

The fourth day of our trip, I got to go outside and play— and watch Aunt Elaine dance. For that… well, I was glad the suit's automated alarm told me when to go in and change my air bottles. Watching her dance, I'd have forgotten until it was too late without the alarm.

I spent a total of six hours outside that day— heavenly, and I mean that literally!

That night, someone got murdered over in the science part of the station— and it looked like a vampire had done the killing.


	18. Without Choice, There is Naught

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 18: Without Choice, There is Naught

I was actually the first one from our group to know about the vampiric killing on Asimov Station. I had gotten up early to do my katas and forms (no Capoeira, the other two styles were challenge enough in one-third gravity, thanks), so I answered the door when the chime sounded softly at a little after six-thirty in the morning, expecting to see Marta. Instead there was a man in the uniform of Station Security, and a woman in United States Air Force casual grays (like camo is casual and utilitarian for the army, grays are for the Air Force, these days). She had a captain's bars on her collar.

"May I help you?" I asked.

"I hope so, Miss," said the man in Station Security blue. "I understand there are several Slayers and a couple of Watchers in your party— and we've had a killing here on the Station that looks very much like it was done by a vampire."

"Crap on a railroad car," I said. "Come in, please, I'll wake the other Slayers and the Watcher and Guardians."

"You're a Slayer, too, then?" the captain asked.

"Yes, ma'am, I am," I said. "However, I'm not that experienced, and I'm thinking you'll want experience. Have a seat, may take a minute."

I went to the door of the big bedroom, tapped firmly, but not loudly— the space station was very well soundproofed, so I couldn't be sure, but I'd bet that if people were awake, there was some serious sex going on in there. I was proved right a few seconds later when the door slid open a crack and Aunt Rose looked out the tiny gap, her face flushed.

"I'm really sorry to interrupt, Aunt Rose," I said, "but there are some people here with a problem— it seems there may be a vampire on the station, there was a killing last night."

"Oh, shit," Aunt Rose said. "Okay, give us five minutes to get… presentable, and we'll all be out."

I told the station folks that the adults needed a few minutes to get awake and dressed, and they accepted that calmly. I offered coffee or other drinks, played hostess for a few minutes, until Uncle Ballard came out and took charge.

He greeted the two, and they introduced themselves as Chief Winston of Station Security and Captain Moran of the Air Force Security Police.

Uncle Ballard made introductions, and by including me in the intros, invited me to stay.

"So," Uncle Ballard said, "Jocelyn says you may have a vampire problem?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so," Chief Winston said. "We'd very much like your help, please. In an enclosed environment like the Station, this could go south very quickly. We take all possible precautions against vampires getting to the Station, but… well, with them being able to ride in on a cargo shuttle or other non-passenger vessel, we've always known that this would happen someday."

"Yes, I guess it is kind of inevitable," Uncle Ballard said. "I had a Criminal Justice teacher once who said that smugglers had been defeating 'perfect security' for millennia, and that there was no reason to think that would ever change."

Chief Winston grinned slowly, almost unwillingly, and said "You went to Illinois State University, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I did," Uncle Ballard said. "How'd you know?"

"Because that's where Doctor John Lyle was from," Winston said. "I had him for Advanced Criminology at UCLA, the year he was out there teaching and taking an extended seminar on the new bomb locating devices— and he said that exact same thing then."

The men shared a chuckle, then got back to business.

"Okay, I think we can help you," Ballard said. "I'm guessing by the presence of Captain Moran that this happened in the science section of the Station?"

"Yes, it did," Moran said. "One scientist was killed. Nothing was stolen, but the vampire did try to hack into the database. He failed— but it was a good run. This is a vampire with some computer skills."

"Do you have any idea what the vampire was after?" Uncle Ballard asked.

"Yes, we do," Moran said. She hesitated, then said, "I must ask you not to discuss this, but I'm not going to throw warnings around or anything. START has never regretted trusting you people, so I'm just going to ask that you not talk about this and leave it there.

"What we think the vampire was trying to get was a new skin-applied ultraviolet protection compound."

"Uh, okay," Ballard said. "I see the significance, it might let a vampire go out in the sun— but why did you guys even make it?"

"Ballard, the special spacesuit you commissioned for Elaine to dance in," Captain Moran said (first name use having been mandated). "How much did it cost you?"

"Thirty million dollars plus," Uncle Ballard said. "What's that got to do with— oh."

Moran nodded, and Uncle Ballard whistled.

"Um, for the not-technical among us," Aunt Elaine said. "Let me say… huh?"

"Elaine, your suit is much thinner than most," Uncle Ballard said. "And clear, so that you can outfit yourself how you want under it, wear stuff that you can move to dance in. The pressure equalizing joints that allow free movement were expensive— but more than eighty percent of the cost of that suit came from making it proof against ultraviolet radiation while keeping it thin. If not for that, it might have been as low as five million— spacesuits of the standard variety run two-point-five million nowadays."

"You see, Elaine, if we could outfit people in suits like yours, we'd make a huge jump in space construction," Moran said. "The suits we use now are harder to move in, and thus take a lot of training hours for construction crews to get used to working in. If we could use the polarizing compound on skin, then use thinner, lighter suits like yours, we'd save the extra cost of the suits in training hours and transport weights alone— and we could build more in space, more and faster. What we're trying to do is expand into space faster.

"Now, we're being cautious, trying to keep this stuff so that it's useless to vampires on earth— not so hard, we simply make it so that it will deteriorate rapidly in the less-pure atmosphere of the planet. But we're a ways off yet. The stage it's at now, it's not even usable by living humans— it causes some serious problems with living skin. But for vampires—"

"No living skin," Aunt Elaine said. "Oh, boy. How'd they find out about it, you think?"

"We don't know," Moran admitted. "We suspect an inadvertent leak— my tech people are trying to lock it down now.

"In the meantime… can you help?"

"We can," Uncle Ballard said. "And we will. I need radiophone time for down on Earth, and as complete a schematic of the station as you can supply me with, with attention to ducting and wiring passages."

"You'll get it," the captain said. "Also… as a thank you, the Air Force is refunding your round trip ticket prices and taking care of your room service and hotel restaurant and bar bills for the duration of your stay."

"You don't have to do that, we—"

"You came here on vacation, and you aren't complaining a bit about losing vacation time to helping us," Moran said. "We're taking care of those things. Period."

"Okay, okay," Uncle Ballard sighed. "Thank you.

"All right— once I've talked to Whitey and gone over the schematics, we'll do a three-team sweep. Rose leads one team, Elaine leads one, and Jocelyn leads one. From th—"

"Uh, no," I said. "I can't lead a team, Uncle Ballard. Maybe you should reduce it to two teams. Or give the third one to Colin."

"Don't be ridiculous," Uncle Ballard said. "You'll be fine, Jocelyn.

"Now, I'll g—"

"Uncle Ballard, no!" I said. "I can't, okay? I just— I can't. I'm sorry, but I'm not— I just _can't!"_

For a long moment, there was silence. Then Aunt Dawn said, "Jocelyn, I think—"

"Please, I just can't!" I cried. "I'm not— there are reasons, I just— I don't know how to say it, but _I can't lead a team!"_

"We'll discuss teams later," Uncle Ballard said smoothly. "For the moment, if you'll get me those schematics…?"

"I'll have them here in half an hour," Moran said. "Thank you, all of you."

Moran and Winston left, and once they were gone, Uncle Ballard turned to me and said, "Jocelyn, I may not be your Watcher, but I'm the Watcher-on-scene— and I need you. Colin has no experience with hunting vampires, and neither do Mi Kyong or Autumn. This needs three Slayers, so you're just going to have to take a team."

I gulped down tears, shook my head and said, "No, sir. I can't do it. You and I could go out as a team, and I'll follow your orders, but I can't—"

"You know the rules," Ballard said. "Buffy's rule, from clear back before I even joined the team, Jocelyn. All field teams are led by Slayers, no exceptions."

"I… can't!" I said, fighting tears. "Please, just let it go, I—"

"Someone is dead," Uncle Ballard said. "More people could die, Jocelyn. Now, we can talk about what's upsetting you, but I need you to do this. I'm not asking, kiddo— I'm telling you, this is how it has to be."

"No," I said in a very small voice. "I'm sorry. But no."

"Jocelyn… you're putting me in a place I don't want to go, here," Uncle Ballard said. "If you refuse to do this, I'll have no choice but to send you home. We can't have this sort of argument in the field, you know that— don't make me do this, Jocelyn, _please_."

I stood for a moment, fighting my tears, lost that battle badly, and sobbed, "I'll g-go p-pack."

Absolute silence fell, one of those "I don't believe this" silences that are so uncomfortable that they're almost physically painful. I turned and started towards the room I was sharing with Colin, felt Royal's thoughts reaching for mine— I'd woken him up with my distress, one more thing to feel bad about.

"Wait, Jocelyn," Aunt Dawn said. "Just… wait a second honey, please?"

I stopped, but didn't look back, just stood there with my shoulders slumped. The door to our room opened— push-buttons, not knobs, very pseudo dragon friendly— and Royal arrowed out, landed in my arms, pressed his head to my cheek and sent a wave of absolute and unconditional love my way. It helped— but not enough. I still felt horrid, still knew that I was throwing away a lot of things I might never get back… but I couldn't do anything else. I wasn't fit to lead, I knew that, and if they couldn't see it, that was bad— but better this than getting someone killed.

I heard Aunt Dawn say, "Just… give me a few minutes with her, okay? Then we'll see. But I think… I think I can help her."

"Yes, all right," Uncle Ballard said. "Dawn… I'll have to follow through if you can't make her see sense."

"I know," Aunt Dawn said. Then she whispered something to him— to him and Aunt Rose, I guess, because both of them made "oh, yeah," noises.

"So you think he was right?" Uncle Ballard said, so softly that I almost missed it.

"Yes," Aunt Dawn said, also trying not to be heard. "Ballard, look at her— something's badly wrong, and _whatever_ the cause is, the effect is exactly what Xander thought."

Aunt Rose said something in Chinese, then sighed softly and said, "Someday, Xander will be wrong. Hope I'm around to see it."

Aunt Dawn came to me, took me by one hand, letting me cradle Royal against my chest with the other, and led me to the little observation deck off of the living room of our suite. She pulled the curtain in front of the door behind us, so that no one inside could see us, then sat me down on the loveseat out there, looking out on space through the dome over the hotel. She leaned against the railing around the little balcony-like platform and her pseudo dragon friend, Sunset, perched on the rail a couple of feet to her left.

"Jocelyn," Aunt Dawn said, "we all know that something's been wrong with you for a while now, hurting you… and I think you know we know. Your dad, he brought the problem to the teaching staff, and they passed it around to all the adults who live at home, so that we'd understand if you were upset or made angry by something that you'd normally deal with easily— so no being mad at him, please?"

I nodded and kept cuddling Royal, stared out at the stars.

"So… we've reached the point where you have to at least _try_ to explain, sweetheart," Aunt Dawn said. "Refusing to help in a situation like this… much as we all love you, that would have to go before the whole Council, we can't play favorites, Jocelyn, much as we might want to. If it goes before the Council and you can't explain yourself a lot better than you have so far… sweetie, they'll put you on inactive status for a long time… and maybe permanently.

"Please, Jocelyn… tell me what's wrong."

"I can't lead a team," I said. "That's all. I'm not fit to lead a team, even if it's just me and one other person. I can't do it."

"Why not?"

"I can't explain it." I looked out at the stars, wished I'd never come here and seen them like this, because it was costing me everything. "I'm sorry. I'll go p-pack."

"No, you really won't," Aunt Dawn said. "Jocelyn, you can go pack if you still feel that's how it has to be— after you've told me what's going on. Until then? You go nowhere. I'm witch enough to hold you right here until you tell me."

"You'll get hungry before me," I said— and Royal _bit_ me!

_*Stop it!*_ he sent while I was shaking my hand and staring at the tiny little bloody spots where his teeth had penetrated the skin. _*Jocelyn, you know that I love you more than I love any other person of any shape in any universe— and sometimes, you have to tell those you love that they are being idiots!_

_*Now is one such time! You are being stupid and childish and stubborn and I truly wish that Angel and Faith were here to do this, because I'm sure they'd be much better at it than I am!_

_*Tell her! She wants to help, and given what she knows, she may be able to! TELL HER!_*

I winced at that last telepathic shout, stared into the eyes of my best friend ever for a long moment— and burst into tears, full-bore sobs.

"I can't lead!" I cried. "I can't, Aunt Dawn, I'm not supposed to, it's not right!"

"Jocelyn, why?" Aunt Dawn asked. "Honey, why can't you lead? Why are you so… so insecure, all of the sudden? Where's the confident girl I remember, the one who shone every day of her training, who made us all so proud, and—"

"I was never meant to have the power!" I sobbed. "Aunt Dawn, I wasn't supposed to be a Slayer!"

"What!?" Aunt Dawn said, dropping to sit beside me and putting an arm around my shoulders. "What in the world are y—"

"I was _never_ _CHOSEN!"_ I cried. "Don't you get it? I got this power by accident, it was just— it wanted my Mom, and I just— got the power as a side effect!

"I was never Chosen, and I was _never supposed to be a Slayer!"_

_Interlude: Normal, Illinois, the Penobscot house_

"Oh, shit," Whitey Penobscot said, dropping the phone back into its charger beside the bed.

"What's wrong, darlin' man?" Gwendolyn asked, looking at him with worried eyes. "I heard you say Ballard's name— is something wrong up on Asimov Station?"

"That's an understatement," Whitey said, kissing Gwendolyn briefly before slipping out of bed and heading for the bureau to grab some clothes to throw on. "Jocelyn's had a meltdown, Gwendolyn— there's a vampire up on the Station and she's refused an order to lead a team to help track it down."

"Refused— she can't refuse!" Gwendolyn said. "She knows the rule, the first rule— in the field, a Slayer leads!"

"I guess Dawn's talking to her now," Whitey said. "I need to find Chantelle. Sorry, honey, but this is—"

"Get you gone!" Gwendolyn said. "She was plannin' on workin' with the young ones this mornin', she'll be over at Scooby Mansion."

"I remember," Whitey said. He shoved his feet in deck shoes, bent and kissed Gwendolyn, and left to find his first wife at a trot.

Chantelle stood at the end of a line of twenty-plus young Slayers armed with inexpensive fiberglass bows, each with an arrow nocked and drawn, pointing down range at targets pinned to bales of hay.

"Short range, no drop," Chantelle said, her voice carrying clearly to Whitey as he approached. "Remember, let the string roll off'n your fingers. And… loose!"

Twenty-odd arrows sailed down range, and each hit the target, if not in the bulls-eye or even the inner ring, all hit the circular target.

"Good shootin', ladies," Chantelle called. "Take five while I tell my husband good mornin'."

She couldn't have seen him, but Whitey had long since become accustomed to the sharpness of Slayer senses. Chantelle turned and kissed him greedily, then pulled back and said, "Uh-oh— what's wrong, Whitey?"

"Jocelyn's… honey, she's not hurt, but she's maybe in trouble," Whitey said. "There's a vampire on Asimov Station, and Ballard and company are going to help with it. He ordered Rose, Elaine and Jocelyn to lead teams— and Jocelyn refused. Multiple times, she refused."

"Aw, screw a goat," Chantelle said. "Whitey, if Ballard has to put this b'fore the Council, they'll bench her, sure as shit. Won't have no choice. What can we do?"

"Dawn's talking to her now," Whitey said, shaking his head in frustration. "She's good at this sort of thing— she felt inadequate for a long time, next to Buffy— so she may be able to reach Jocelyn. But I… Chantelle, do you think Xander's right? That this is about Jocelyn not ever having been actually Chosen?"

"I'm afraid I do," Chantelle said. She bit her lip for a moment, making her look like a troubled teenager, then said, "After seein' how our girl took to everything there is to bein' a Slayer so fast and easy, an' especially after that business with that vampire bastard Arminger, I… Whitey, I had some doubts of my own. I started wonderin' if the Scythe picked me just 'cause of Jocelyn, if it was her it wanted. I got past that, mostly thanks to Buffy bein' here right after. She talked to me, reminded me of how much I'd done, startin' with them H'lkordak demons over t'the mall, an' made me see how much help I been to the younger girls— got me past it.

"But it was there— an' I feel like a lot of kinds of dumbass for not expectin' this, not seein' that it was bound to come t'other way."

"Silly woman," Whitey said, and kissed her. "I've known you were a good choice since the first moment, and never doubted it for a second.

"Okay, let's find Giles and the others— can Lydia take over for you here?"

Lydia could, and once she'd been told what was going on she shooed Jocelyn's parents off to find the others and took over the archery class without any hesitation at all.

Five minutes later, Buffy, Xander, Giles, Kelly, Willow and Diane Hodges sat and listened while Whitey told them of his phone call from Ballard.

"Dear lord," Giles said, taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Jocelyn… oh, my dear girl, how could you be so bloody _blind!?"_

"She's fourteen, Giles," Xander said. "Insecure and stupid about it? Comes with the age."

"You still think this is about her not having ever been called, never actually being Chosen, honey?" Buffy asked.

"Yeah, I do," Xander said. "Buffy— all of you— think about this. Jocelyn's fine for years, just fine— she's a sponge, sucking up everything we can teach her, excelling at every skill vital to Slayers. More importantly, she's smart— she thinks, she uses her head, she's not impulsive or stupid… and then the first Slayer from our kids gets called. Now, sure, Jocelyn performed okay the next couple of days, did a bang-up job of getting Mi Kyong out of that prison camp, okay, no argument. But it wasn't long after that that she started slipping."

"It was weeks before she… made a mistake at Alex's visitation," Willow said.

"No, there was slippage before then," Buffy said, nodding at Xander. "Willow, the morning… the morning after Alex was killed, when I went to get Whitey and Colin for our brainstorming session, I found Jocelyn shadowboxing. She was doing something— she was letting the wrong parts of the three martial arts she uses blend, and it wasn't new. I was too hurt to see it then, but what she was doing wrong, it was something at least a couple of weeks old. You don't make that kind of mistake that consistently overnight. She'd trained it into herself. Two weeks or ten days at minimum.

"And then she screwed up Whitey's simulations badly right after coming home— which is just a few days after the Scythe made Joyce one of us." Buffy shook her head. "No accident. Xander has done his usual."

"I agree," Diane said. "Xander, would you like to go into practice with me?"

"No, thanks," Xander said. "I'm a Watcher, Diane— that's who I want to be, and who I'm going to keep right on being."

"All right, we've identified the problem," Giles said. "Now what do we do about it?"

"That's not so easy," Diane said. "Sure, I know the magic is real— but I can't practice it. I don't even know much about it, past the fact that it's real.

"I can help her— but it will take time, and I'll need her here. In the meantime, I don't think you should push her to lead. If anything does go wrong, it'll destroy her."

"Oh, damn," Chantelle said. "Willow, isn't there someth—"

The door to the library opened, and in marched Belinda Penobscot, the older of Jocelyn's sisters. She wore a knee-length T-shirt nightie, bunny slippers, and her dragon friend Midnight draped around her neck. The irises of her eyes, the same icy blue as her father's, had all but swallowed her pupils, which were pinpricks of black. Gwendolyn Reece came right behind her, wearing a robe over skin and looking worried.

"You must accept the Guardian's solution," Belinda said in a voice that seemed to virtually thunder with command, though it wasn't all that loud. "She will have a stopgap solution. Jocelyn must learn that she was Chosen as much as her mother… and she will. The time will come.

"Until that time, you must let her deal with things as best she can. Help as you can, but take no drastic measures. All will ride on the choice of the Scythe… and on those it chooses twice. Also those it will choose for the first time… though it will be their second Choosing.

"The star in human form will need to reclaim his identity. He _is_ Starpulse, and he must accept that. He will risk all to save many… and his fate we cannot see, for only partly of this world is he.

"Your enemies are three… and _not_ three. One… is… many…."

Belinda trailed off, and her whole body shook for a second— then her pupils dilated to normal size, and she looked around.

"Mommy?" she said in a slightly scared voice. "Daddy? I think… I had another vision. Did I tell you…?"

"You told us, babydoll," Chantelle said, holding her arms out for Belinda, who ran to her for a hug. As the girl turned to hug Whitey, Chantelle stroked her hair and said, "You told us— and you helped, Belinda. You helped us, an' you helped Jocelyn."

"You did good, girl-o'-mine," Whitey said, and kissed her forehead. "You okay?"

"I feel… funny." Belinda shook her head and said, "Like after I had champagne at Felicia and Sam's wedding."

"Vision inebriation, wonderful," Whitey said wryly. "Okay, sweetie— you go back to the house with Gwendolyn and get cleaned up— I'll be over soon to fix breakfast."

"Okay, Daddy," Belinda said. "I hope I didn't interrupt anything too important."

"Belinda, don't be silly," Giles said, looking up from the pad where he had quickly and carefully written down every word that Belinda had said during her vision. "You've done quite a bit to help us— you may interrupt us so at any time, young lady. Please do, in fact."

"Okay, thanks, Giles," Belinda said, looking more relaxed. "See you at breakfast, Daddy."

"Thanks for coming with her, Gwendolyn," Whitey said while Belinda kissed her mother goodbye.

"Never a problem, I say," Gwendolyn said. "See you soon."

Belle and Gwendolyn left, and Giles heaved a sigh of relief. "All right," he said. "I know that Belinda said things that are not germane to the immediate situation, but I should like to concentrate on the immediate for now.

"It sounds to me as though either Sh'rin or Dawn— most likely Dawn, given that she is now Chief of the Guardians— will come up with a solution that will serve our immediate needs of… finding help for Jocelyn without forcing upon us the need of putting her before the entire Council for disciplinary action— thank the Powers for that. Then we simply do what we can to help her… and wait."

"That waitin', that sounds like a major pain in my pretty butt," Chantelle said. She pushed her hair out of her face, looked around and added, "I know— she's bein' crazy, and it's dumb, but she's my little girl, an' I hate not bein' able to fix this for her right the hell _now_."

"The perils of parenting," Kelly said. "But… hurt, scared, being a loon and all, Jocelyn is tough where it counts, Chantelle. She'll be okay."

"She better be," Chantelle said, smiling a little. "She ain't, I'll ground her for a _month_."

"And on that note," Giles said, "Let us move on to the matter of Colin, and what Belinda's vision says about him— and how we can best increase his chances of coming out the other side of whatever risk he will take whole and healthy…."

_Jocelyn:_

Aunt Dawn stared at me like I'd lost my mind for a long moment, then said, "Oh, spirits of Air and Fire! Jocelyn how in the world can you think that? That's— that's past nuts and into seriously ape-shit-donkey-screw-barking-cat _insane!_

"Sweetie, you're a Slayer, and that's _exactly_ how it was meant to be!"

"No!" I cried, shaking my head violently enough to send tears flying in the low gravity. "No, I'm an accident! It wasn't me, it was Mom! It Chose Autumn, and it Chose Joyce, but the Scythe never Chose me! I'm just… just a st-stupid accident!"

Aunt Dawn dropped to sit beside me, grabbed me and pulled me close, not letting me resist her, even. She'd had some experience at comforting Slayers in pain who didn't want comfort— when Aunt Rose's younger sister, Laurie, got killed two years before in a stupid traffic accident, it was Aunt Dawn who managed to force her to stop beating the shit out of the big old maple tree behind their house and accept some comfort— and once she had me pulled close and in her arms, I lost the will to resist. I leaned against her, cradled Royal, and sobbed for… a while. I don't know how long.

"Jocelyn, you're wrong," Aunt Dawn said. "I know. I know, okay? I'm the Chief of the Guardians, honey, I know how they thought, how the parts of themselves that they put into the Scythe still think— and they don't allow accidents like that. Every choice is weighed and measured, and there are no accidents."

"No?" I said, not looking at her. "No accidents?

"Then how do you explain Claudia Steele, Aunt Dawn? Or Heidi Kauffman? Or N'daré Otumwara? They all went crazy and killed people! If those weren't accidents, what were they?"

"Mistakes," Aunt Dawn said. "They were mistakes. Their lives took turns that the Scythe somehow failed to see, and it made mistakes. There may be others. There are what, thirty active and fully trained Slayers without pseudo dragon companions? Girls that the other pseudo dragons don't like, and can't— or won't— say _why_ they don't like them? One or more of those girls may yet go wrong— but we can hope not.

"The ones you mentioned were mistakes, Jocelyn. Not accidents."

"So how do you know I wasn't a mistake?" I asked. "How do you know I wasn't one of those mistakes, that the Scythe didn't make one its rare mistakes in its eagerness to have Mom as a Slayer?"

"I know," Aunt Dawn said, and kissed my cheek. "I know, Jocelyn. I know because I've known you for your whole life. I've seen you at your worst— new high on that, today, but still and all, not that bad— and I've seen you at your best. I've watched you chase after every one of us who could teach you something that might make you a better Slayer and bug us until we taught you. I've seen you fight as part of a team of newbies, and outshine every one of them, even girls older and technically better trained than you. I've seen your Dad, who never hesitates to tell someone when they screw up, even someone he loves, glow with pride over what you've done right.

"I've never had the privilege of seeing you fight solo— but I don't need to. I know from your father's reports and from Vincent's report on the Korea thing that you are a _Slayer_. You were born to the power, and it was a choice that none of us have ever doubted.

"We never had to tell you that you needed training. You came to us. We never had to drag you to class, you were always early. We never had to tell you to practice— we had to tell you to _stop_.

"Buffy respects you, Jocelyn. Buffy! The Prime! She thinks you're _amazing,_ that you have the potential to be _better than her,_ and no one's ever been _as good_ as she is, let alone better.

"So how in the hell does that become an _accident,_ let alone a _mistake?"_

I didn't answer, just cried for a bit. Aunt Dawn didn't push, just held me and rocked me, kissed my cheek and my hair, loved me as surely and strongly as Royal. After a while, I managed to slow my crying enough to speak.

"I still can't know," I whisper-wept. "Everything you say makes sense, I guess… but I can't know. I never will know, and I… it scares me!"

"Being scared is fine," Aunt Dawn said. "Not fine is—"

"Letting scared determine what you do," I said with her, completing one of Daddy's favorite sayings.

"Yeah, that's it," Aunt Dawn said. She looked at me, smiled a little, and said, "Jocelyn… you know that there's a reason that a _Slayer_ has to be in charge in the field, don't you?"

"I… because Giles and Buffy never want it to go back to how it was before the Battle of the First," I said, pillowing my head on her shoulder in resignation. "They want it to be the Slayer in charge because that way the Watchers can never get so stupid again. And because… because we're the ones who will die first, if there's dying to be done."

"Yeah," Aunt Dawn said. "That's about it, sweetheart.

"Can you lead? Can you go in there and do what has to be done?

"Please, Jocelyn?"

"I'll be… scared to death." I sat up, reached to a little table that sat next to the loveseat and grabbed a handful of tissues. "I'll… can you make Uncle Ballard send you with me? Please? I can't— Aunt Dawn, I can't say all that again, not now. And I need… I need someone who knows."

"I can do that," Aunt Dawn said. She smiled, then, that slow, sweet smile that makes you feel like you're the center of the universe, and said, "But remember, busty and big hips, here— you'll be stuck with the tight spaces."

That actually surprised a laugh out of me. A couple of minutes later, when I had my breathing under control and my face clean, we got up and went inside.

"I'm sorry," I said to Uncle Ballard immediately. "I'll… lead a team. I can't explain again why… why I don't want to, not right now. But I'll do it."

"Okay," Uncle Ballard said with an explosive sigh. "Okay, kiddo. Thank you."

"One thing," Aunt Dawn said. "As your wife, I'd like to let you do things your way, dear sir, but as the Chief of the Guardians, I'm going to pull rank. I'm with Jocelyn."

"Yeah, sure, take the one person most likely to kill a vampire before it can even get close," Uncle Ballard said. "Cheater.

"But, okay. I'll take Elaine— we're the best in zero and micro-gravity, we'll work the hub and its immediate environs. Rose and Sh'rin have ring and spokes from radius zero to radius one-eighty, and Jocelyn, you and Dawn have the ring and spokes from radius one-eighty to radius three-sixty. When Elaine and I finish, if we're done before you guys— good possibility— we'll split up and join your teams. Jocelyn, which do you want, me or Elaine?"

"I'm gonna go with Aunt Elaine," I said, hoping Uncle Ballard wouldn't be offended. "Um… can I pass the leader hat to her when she catches up?"

"You two can hash that out between you," Uncle Ballard said. "I'll just sell tickets if it comes to a fight.

"Okay, here's the schematics…."

Uncle Ballard talked us all through our search patterns, and I pretended not to notice Aunt Dawn slipping off to their room to use the phone to call down to Earth. After all, she was helping me— least I could do is pretend not to notice her telling my parents what was up.


	19. Vamps… in… Spaaace!

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 19: Vamps… in… Spaaace!

_Interlude: Scooby Mansion_

"Thank you, Dawn— you're a lifesaver," Whitey said, and dropped the phone back in the charger before turning back to face the others in the room. "She's… better. She has accepted the leadership of a team— I know, you didn't think that was a good idea, Diane, but she's taken it, and Dawn's going with her. Once Elaine and Ballard finish their sweep of the zero and micro-gravity areas of the station, Elaine's joining Jocelyn and Dawn, and Dawn promised to make sure Elaine takes over the leadership then."

"That will have to do, then," Diane said. She sat back, looked thoughtful. "What a mess— and I should have seen it coming."

"Oh, come on!" Willow said. "I'm the witch, here, not you!"

"I'm the shrink," Diane said. "I'm the shrink who's been around you people off and on for most of Jocelyn's life— and this mess? Practically inevitable."

"I'm sorry, but… huh?" Buffy said. "Why?"

"Buffy, Jocelyn has had the power since she was born, yes," Diane said. "Also since she was born, she's been surrounded by the people who are the heart of what you're doing. The city of Normal is the seat of the Watchers' Council, for heaven's sake! She's been right here, seen you work with girls from day one for years— and you've included her since she was old enough to understand what you'd be including her in, yes. That probably kept this from happening earlier. But for God's sake, she's at the center of things! She knows exactly how important what you do is, she's seen the consequences of it going wrong and she's pushed herself to make sure that she was never the cause of it going wrong.

"You've all worked with her, praised her when she needed it, given her grief when she deserved that. You're not to blame, any of you— but it's only because none of your kids were called before now that Jocelyn didn't suffer this attack of insecurity beforehand.

"When she was right here when Autumn was called, just a few feet from Autumn… that would be when she first felt any doubt, though she probably wasn't aware of it, then. Then it got bigger and deeper, manifested itself as failing to separate her fighting arts. I suspect that the only thing that kept it from happening sooner and worse was her bonding with Mi Kyong— whose age and inexperience gave Jocelyn something to look at and compare herself to. 'There's someone my age who just got called, and I love her,' you see? That let her dodge the wondering. If the Scythe could call Mi Kyong, and Mi Kyong could love Jocelyn, could be Jocelyn's friend, almost her sister? Okay, someone Chosen chose her.

"In fact, pardon me while I digress for a second; Whitey, that you love that girl so completely, that you _chose_ to love her, and never mind matters of genetics? That's going to help a lot, I think, and I'll tell you flatly that it's already helped a lot, kept this from blowing up in our faces. So if I catch you looking like you want to feel guilty, I will personally take exception to that expression with a _goddamn_ _baseball bat!"_

Whitey blinked in surprise, looked guilty for a second— then carefully wiped that expression off of his face and said, "Okay, point taken."

"We now return you to your regularly scheduled analysis of the situation," Diane said, giving Whitey a cheerful grin. "Okay… the first obvious manifestation of her doubt came at Alex's visitation, and you handled it right. You gave her grief, made sure she understood what she'd done wrong and why it was wrong— and then you dropped it. God, I wish all parents and parent-figures— yes, Xander, I mean you, you said exactly the right thing to her— were as bright as you folks.

"Then the big nuke of an insecurity bomb; the Scythe Chose Joyce, did it almost a year early. Yes, the reasons were good, and I'm damned glad it happened, it gives her an edge against the attempt on her life that this _prick_ Warren is likely to make.

"But I would give my right fucking arm for her to have started menstruating a few days sooner, so that she'd been Chosen when Autumn was. A double blow at once would have been less damaging to Jocelyn's mindset than the two blows separated, and the second one being… exceptional.

"I don't begrudge Joyce the power, I want her to have it, and I'm grateful to whatever power it is that's in the Scythe for giving it to her early— and I wish to hell it had been a lot quieter about it.

"That exceptional gift of power? That made this so much worse for Jocelyn. It drew her attention to the Choosing, put it at the front of her mind, planted it there where she can't get around it— and we've all heard the results, now."

"What a goddamn mess," Chantelle said with a sigh. "So… what now?"

"Well, Jocelyn's a smart girl," Diane said, leaning back and looking thoughtful. "She's going to know that you know about this. There are two things you could do very wrong about what happened; you could ignore it, making her feel pitied and more insecure, or you could climb down her throat about it and harangue her, punish her in the long term, telling her that she's right— that her having the power is a mistake.

"You need to be the parents you've always been— and the grandparents, aunts, uncles, friends, teachers— and you need to let her know that you aren't happy about what she did, then let it go.

"She's likely to ask for extra training. Give it to her, _in moderation_. She will almost certainly push herself too hard, or want to— and you have to let her know that she can't.

"And don't— do _not!_— put her in a position of leadership again before I tell you it's okay, not if there's any other way. No solo patrols, either, again unless there are no other options.

"You need to make sure she _plays_. She needs the distraction of recreation very badly. Colin and Mi Kyong and the other kids will probably help a lot, there.

"There's one other thing that would do her a world of good… but I can't tell you to do it. I can suggest it, but I won't order it. It would take some work to make it happen without her getting suspicious, I think, but if you people can't do that, it probably can't be done.

"Jocelyn needs some responsibility that is utterly and completely unassociated with the Slayer power, Team Slayer, or anything combative."

The psychiatrist stopped there, and after a second, Whitey said, "Okay, I'll bite. What did you have in mind?"

Diane told him, and Whitey nodded and looked at Chantelle, who said, "Hell, that's better'n fine. I got no problems with that at all. But… how do we arrange it to be somethin' that don't look like we're doin' it to give her somethin' to focus on beside trainin' and such?"

"Oh, come on!" Willow said, looking indignant. "Chantelle, if I can't arrange something like that, I'll personally turn in my pointy hat! Not that I actually wear a pointy hat, okay, except that one time on Halloween, but— but you get the idea!"

"Okay, then," Diane said. "I'll want to work with her, too— but I want her to ask me for help. If she doesn't inside of a week after they get back, then you can tell her you'd like her to work with me some, but it would be better if she asked."

"Works for me." Whitey sighed, stood up, and said, "I'm going to go make breakfast for the kids. Diane— all of you— thank you. I'd be a lot more worried about Jocelyn without all of you to help."

"What he said," Chantelle said, standing up herself. "Gonna go free Lydia back up. Love you all, and love you double for helpin'."

The group split up to go back to their various tasks, and Willow to research what she'd have to do to give Jocelyn the responsibility she needed.

_Jocelyn:_

Ten minutes of closely examining schematics later, Colin came out of our room, stretching and looking absolutely edible in just a pair of sweatpants. He looked at us, became more alert instantly, and said, "Trouble?"

"Trouble," Uncle Ballard said. "Glad you're up— need you to do something for us."

"Ask it, it's done," Colin said.

"We have a vampire here on the station," Uncle Ballard said. "It's killed a scientist, and it's looking to get hold of something that could make vampires on earth damned scary. We're going looking for it.

"However… Station Security and the Air Force both knew we were here, so the damned vampire might, too. I need you to stay here and cover the kids. Mi Kyong and Autumn don't have the training yet, and while you don't either… you have other equalizers."

"Not a problem," Colin said. "Keep them in the suite, I'm guessing?"

"Yes, please," Uncle Ballard said. "Tell them what's happening— they'll cooperate, they know better than to bitch when there's a situation like this."

"You got it," Colin said. He looked at me, ran a hand down my hair and asked softly, "You okay, Jocelyn?"

"No," I said, not wanting to lie to him. "I'm having… issues. In fact, my issues have issues. But… I'll hold it together."

"Okay," he said. "We talk after you're done?"

"All right," I said reluctantly. "But right now…."

"I know," he said, and kissed me lightly. "I'll get dressed while you guys finish your briefing."

Mi Kyong woke up in time to tell me goodbye, too— and to ask what was wrong. Like Colin, she accepted that I couldn't talk about it right then, and my promise that we'd talk later.

Just before we left, Aunt Elaine stared out at the stars for a moment, looking speculative— and when she turned back, she looked at Linnea, Aunt Dawn's bio-daughter, and said, "Linnea, can you do something for me while we're out?"

"Sure thing, Elaine-mom," Linnea said. "What's up?"

"I need you to find James Tanner and tell him to get his butt up here," Aunt Elaine said. "Tell him I need music— twenty minutes worth, minimum, and we'll talk about it when he gets here. His ticket is part of payment, as is his room and his stay."

All of us froze in shock and… well, hope. (Except Colin and Mi Kyong, they just froze because the rest of us did.)

"Mommy?" Erin said, her face lighting up. (At ten, she was already an accomplished dancer, and she loved nothing more than to watch her mom dance.) "Mommy… Mister Tanner, he wrote your music the last time you _danced_. Are you gonna…?"

"Yes," Aunt Elaine said, nodding firmly. "Yes. It's time. There's something I need to say that I can't say any other way. So… time to dance."

"Oh, man," Uncle Ballard sighed, a smile spreading across his face. "Okay, that's the best news I've heard lately!

"And that means we're way more careful than we were going to be, even. No getting hurt— I have blackmail material. You get hurt _because of your own stupid,_ you don't get to watch her tape it!"

"Hey!" I squawked. "That's just mean!"

"Bet it works, though," Uncle Ballard said. "Okay, let's get this done. Rose, Sh'rin— start at radius zero, work towards one-eighty. Jocelyn, Dawn, you start at radius one-eighty, work towards three-sixty. Elaine and I will start at the Axis Lab and work our way down to the Zero Bubble.

"Headset check."

We all checked our radios, which were working fine, then said (and hugged, and kissed) our goodbyes and went off to find the vampire.

I had four stakes in the pockets of my cargo pants, two super-darts (oversized darts with long wooden points to kill vamps and steel vanes for stability and weight), and my favorite longsword. Aunt Dawn had a bandolier of a half a dozen stakes and the Guardian's Blade.

We went straight to the main airlock at radius three-sixty-slash-zero, and started clockwise towards radius one eighty, doing detours down the many spokes of the doughnut-wheel of Asimov Station. We had access badges for all not-private areas of the station, given us by Chief Winston, and we checked rooms and areas thoroughly, with me doing the areas Aunt Dawn didn't fit into, Royal and Sunset checking areas where they could get more quickly than I could for their smaller size.

Four hours later, it was almost noon and we were all covered in grease, grime, dust and sweat. (Well, no sweat on the pseudo dragons, but they were as messy as us humans.) We'd covered about half our assigned area, and we were starving. We came out of a store that sold photos and posters printed from pictures taken up here, and I saw an unexpected and very welcome sight; pizza! A super large-pizza, twenty inches across, sitting on a table in a little open courtyard across the hall, sort of a public resting place, with a big, beautiful, scenic view of space out through the window out of the station. Next to it was Aunt Dawn's favorite meal (a giant sub sandwich with several kinds of meat, every kind vegetable ever grown almost, and a bag of chili-cheese corn chips). A man stood next to the table, and when we came out, he made a big, expansively theatrical gesture inviting us to sit— and I shrieked in delight.

"UNCLE ETHAN!" I yelled, and charged across the hallway to fling myself at him in a carefully controlled hug.

Ethan Rayne, Giles's oldest friend, once his worst enemy, now his brother in all but blood, caught me, swung me around, kissed me soundly on the cheek, and set me down as Aunt Dawn, smiling a little at my delight, came over and gave him a brief hug.

"You're back!" I bubbled. "You're done? Or will you be going back?"

"I'm back," Uncle Ethan said in his cultured British voice. "I've only just arrived on Station— and found a letter from Giles waiting for me.

"Dawn… my dear, I'm so sorry about Alex. Is Joyce… will she be all right? And Xander and Buffy?"

"They will be," Aunt Dawn said, sitting down. "It's so fresh right now, it… it still cuts."

"I'm sure," Uncle Ethan said, sitting down with us and dry scrubbing his face. "Alex… gods and angels, may he rest easy. Such a love of life he had. Giles didn't say… do you know who did it?"

"We do," Aunt Dawn said, and gave me a look that said she intended to embarrass me, and never mind my feelings on the matter. "We know— because Jocelyn figured it out."

"I fail to be surprised," Uncle Ethan said. He patted my hand and said, "She takes after her father— natural police inspector."

Aunt Dawn told him what had happened, what we knew, then said, "Did you run into someone from our party up here?"

"Yes, but that's not how I found out you were all here," he said. He reached up and stroked the rich orange scales of his pseudo dragon friend, Butterfly, and said, "Butterfly told me that your pseudo dragons were all here. From there, Ballard and I met and had a conversation, and he suggested that I bring you two lunch, as you'd have to be hungry by now."

"Bless my hubby," Aunt Dawn said. "He was right.

"So… did you learn anything in the caverns?"

Uncle Ethan had been incommunicado because he'd been on the dark side of the moon with a START team, investigating a series of caverns there that had been discovered by a lunar-landing team, and that had definite demon remains in them. He'd left two weeks before school let out, and been out of touch all that time.

"A bit, yes," he said. "Nothing terribly pleasant, I'm afraid, but nothing that raises any sort of threat, either, I believe. I've reams of copied writings that were found on walls up there for Rupert and Wesley to go over— they're much better linguists than I— that may tell us something more.

"In the meantime, however… may I offer you some assistance?" He stroked Butterfly's neck, smiled a little wolfishly, and said, "I may have reformed and become a Watcher, but I still know my chaos magics, and chaos magics are excellent for finding something that is out of place— such as, say, a vampire in outer space."

"Oh, man," I said. I started to look at Aunt Dawn, then remembered that I was in charge— I'd been trying to forget. "I'm all for it— but Uncle Ballard should know, he's the Watcher on station, and I think this falls into his sphere of responsibility."

"He, Rose and Elaine agreed, pending your agreement," Uncle Ethan said. "So… once you've eaten, we'll get it done, and then I expect to meet your… what was the phrase? Your 'super-hero boyfriend,' that was it. I expect to meet him and your 'adopted sister,' and decide if he's allowed to keep you and she lives up to the family standard."

"Deal," I said— and dug into my pizza.

Forty minutes later, the seven of us— Uncle Ballard, my aunts Dawn, Sh'rin, Rose and Elaine, Uncle Ethan and I— gathered at the main airlock (temporarily blocked off by Station Security while we worked), and Uncle Ethan cast his spell. He drew a big circle on the floor there, a double circle, no pentagram (different magical styles and all that jazz), and set a very good toy model of the station in the center of it. Then he cast his spell, chanting in ancient Sumerian to do so. As soon as the spell took effect, the model of the station turned translucent, and _two different spots_ lit up red. Those two spots magnified themselves and resolved into two sets of three spots, one near the atmospheric scrubbing station at the hub of the station, one at the Johns Hopkins Laboratory for Space Medicine out near radius two-seventy and slightly inboard along the spoke there.

"Oh, hell's bells," Uncle Ballard said grumpily. "Atmosphere plant, yay. Tubes and ducts and nooks and crannies galore."

"Look on the bright side, honey," Aunt Elaine said. "At least we know they'll get cleaned out of the air when we dust them there."

"Good point, I guess," Uncle Ballard said with a shake of his head. "Okay— resetting teams, here. Elaine, Dawn and I will take the atmosphere plant, we're best in zero-gee. Rose, you take Jocelyn and Sh'rin and hit the Medical Center."

"What about me?" Uncle Ethan said. "I'm still a dab hand with a stake, you know."

"Yes, and you're operating in a gravity twice that of what you've been used to for the last six weeks," Uncle Ballard said. "You're not going to have a lot of stamina right now, Ethan, and fighting in this gravity would be damned dangerous for your cardiopulmonary health right now. Besides, we need you to maintain the spell, tell us if the vamps move."

Uncle Ethan agreed, though he was sort of grumpy about it, and the rest of us Slayers, Watchers and Guardians all headed for our targets. Not wanting to waste time, those of us on Aunt Rose's team moved off for the LSM (Laboratory for Space Medicine) at a quick trot, which, in one-third gravity, even Aunt Sh'rin could maintain for a long time, and she didn't have Slayer stamina. (Of course, it hurts nothing that she's naturally athletic.)

We arrived at the LSM, found their security officer and explained what was going on. Immediately, he got out some floor plans, paper copies, and helped us work out, with a talk-through by Uncle Ethan, where the vampires had to be.

"Technical storage," Officer Spellman said. "That's where we put portable EEG, EKG and other electronic monitoring devices when they aren't in use. Bad scene— no lowered ceiling there, lots of pipes and ducting exposed. Great place to hide, it's also pretty cluttered on floor level."

"Frack," Aunt Rose sighed. "Okay. Anyone likely to be in there?"

"Not a soul, unless they're going in to get something out, then they wouldn't stay," Spellman said. "So… you want some of my people, or should we just stay out of the way?"

"Little bit of both," Aunt Rose said, looking at the plans. "I see ventilation holes big enough for a person to get through on either side of the room— patient room on one side, nurses' lounge on the other. Your people have access to taser-tech, yes?"

"Standard issue," Spellman said, tapping his own nightstick, tipped with the two metal prongs that said it was capable of delivering a healthy shock.

"Great, that works," Aunt Rose said. She tapped the two rooms, said, "Split your available forces between those two rooms— after getting the patient out of that one, of course— and make sure that they know that while tasers will work on a vamp, the stun effect won't last as long, and to hit them repeatedly once they're down should they get into either room— as often as your sticks recharge would be my recommendation. We'll be along to finish the job as fast as possible, if they do that."

"You got it," Spellman said. "I figure I'd go for a patient room, if it was me— hostage. So I'll go there."

"Smart," Aunt Rose said. "Thanks, Officer— nice to get help that's using brains."

"Idiots tend to not last long working in space," Spellman said. "But thanks."

Five minutes later, the three of us went in, dressed in the orderlies tunics and pants that most nurses here wore (which were a HORRID shade of pink!), which probably wouldn't fool anyone at all, even a very dumb vampire, as we were all also carrying weapons. I had my two super-darts, a pair of stakes and my sword, Aunt Rose had a pair of stakes and a sword, and Aunt Sh'rin had a wooden spear (really effective against vampires— it's a long stake, for Pete's sake!) and a pair of stakes.

We went in carefully, trying really hard to be casual— well, that didn't work.

"Slayers!" came a hiss from above our heads when we were ten feet inside, just spreading out among the big, blocky carts with various medical monitoring systems on them.

They hit us from above, hard, and got a quick advantage. They had brains enough to actively push off of the ceiling to compensate for the reduced gravity, which sucked. (Pun intended— with malice!)

I got a head-butt from above, which sent me reeling, and the vampire closed fast, before I could draw a weapon. He grappled me, tried to pin my arms— and hundreds, maybe thousands of hours of training took over.

I kneed him in the balls as he got his arms around me, and as he went backwards and doubled over, I stepped closer to stay with him and brought both hands up, clenched together in a single fist. He flew backwards, I reached for my sword— and Aunt Rose slammed into my side, sending us both tumbling.

"Steroid-freak vamp," Aunt Rose muttered as we both got up quickly. "Sorry, sweetie."

I glanced sideways, saw the almost-seven-foot-tall mass of muscle that had flung her into me, and said, "Ouch— definitely forgiven, he's freaking _huge!"_

"Bigger they are!" Aunt Rose said— and leaped at the vampire, drawing her sword and entering what she called 'Captain Cuisinart' mode as she went.

I glanced back at mine, saw him shaking his stun off— and pulled a super-dart off of it's little leather holster on my hip. Pull and throw, all one motion, and the distance was so short that the lowered gravity didn't mess me up. He dusted, the dart dropped to the floor— and Aunt Sh'rin screamed in pain.

I spun around, saw that her vampire— female, Asian, lithe and sexy— had disarmed her somehow, broken her arm, and now was behind Aunt Sh'rin, ready to bite her.

What happened next… well, accident or no, I'm a Slayer, and certain instincts come with the power, and I let mine take over. I leaped towards the pair, drawing my sword as I moved in a long, flattened arc that would have been impossible on Earth, even with Slayer strength. I snapped my sword out in front of me— and the blade sank into the vampire's neck, cut outwards as she jerked away and let go of Aunt Sh'rin.

Aunt Sh'rin had the presence of mind to lurch sideways to get out of my way— impressive, considering the pain she had to be in— and I body-checked the vampire bitch, sent her staggering backwards snarling in pain as blood oozed slowly from the gaping wound in her neck.

I hit the ground moving faster than I wanted, but that worked out okay— I ran up the wall, wishing I could see it, knowing it must have looked cool as all get out, kicked off (gently) about ten feet up, and landed between the Asian vampire and Aunt Sh'rin.

"Thou shalt not mess with my family!" I said, and leapt in, blade whirling.

That bitch was good— seriously good, she must have been really old and constantly working on her martial arts skills. She tore a metal push-handle off of a cart and defended herself against my sword strikes with the two-foot length of metal with amazing ability. I found myself wishing she was human, so I could get lessons from her, that's how good she was.

She was really working me hard, and Aunt Rose was getting a similar workout from her moose-vamp target, so couldn't help me, and Aunt Sh'rin was hurt— so I did the only thing available to me.

I took a hit.

I gave the bitch an opening, and she used it. I over-reached a thrust, and while I was still trying to pull back (really trying— the body takes over, but I'd known I wouldn't be able to do it), she drove the jagged end of the metal handle she was fending me off with into my left shoulder. Hurt like a son of a bitch, and threw my body hard to my left, bringing my now-stiffened right arm— and the sword I held— right at her neck with all the force the two of us together could produce. Her head left her neck… and she dusted.

I was in a lot of pain, but I wasn't totally out of it. I couldn't get a good shot at moose-vamp's chest, not with Aunt Rose between me and him, but I could hit his head easily. I drew my remaining super-dart and flung it at his head. As I sank to my knees, clutching my shoulder and cussing like mad, the dart punched into his cheek, glanced off of teeth and tore back out of his cheek. He yelled in pain, grabbed at his face— and Aunt Rose took advantage of his distraction and beheaded him.

"I'm fine, check Aunt Sh'rin," I said between gritted teeth as Aunt Rose started towards us.

"I'm… not bleeding," Aunt Sh'rin gasped. "But I think it is a bad break— the miserable sow!"

Aunt Rose checked her out, muttered curses in Chinese, and said, "Ethan, let the hospital people know they can come in, would you? Jocelyn and Sh'rin will need treatment. Nothing life-threatening, but definitely in need of medical care."

Then she was next to me, moving my hand, pressing against my wound herself to slow the bleeding with direct pressure. She laid me down, kept her hand on my wound— and grinned at me.

"Jocelyn, I caught that out of the corner of my eye— sacrifice shot, wasn't it?" she asked.

"Yeah," I gasped. "Bitch was hell on legs, Aunt Rose— had to take the hit to get the kill."

"You've got guts to spare, grasshopper," Aunt Rose said. "From the little I saw? It was a good choice. Judas on a jumping bean, in the flickers I saw, I managed to identify at least seven different martial arts forms on her. You did _good,_ Jocelyn!"

"Thanks," I said. "Thanks, Aunt Rose."

Then the medical people were there, and Aunt Sh'rin and I got stretcher rides to their ER for treatment.

Aunt Elaine and her team had a tough time, too, but the only serious injury was to Uncle Ballard, who came out of it with a concussion. Turns out that one of the vamps had only been a vamp for a year or so, and had been a zero-gee combat instructor before he got vamped, and Uncle Ballard had drawn him when the initial fight broke out, gotten slammed headfirst into a wall. No other injuries, and none of us was hurt terribly.

"Given that none of us were hurt because of our own stupid," Uncle Ballard said as we all sat in the living room of our suite after being released to go "home" (with some conditions, of course, but released), "I'm hereby declaring that there will be no invocation of the threatened punishment— when she's ready, everyone may watch Elaine dance."

Uncle Ethan sat bolt upright, a look of almost hungry interest on his face.

"Dance?" he said. "As in… for taping?"

"For taping," Aunt Elaine said. "James Tanner will be up tomorrow afternoon to work with me on music, Linnea got hold of him while we were working."

"Ah, thank the gods," Uncle Ethan said. "My dear, you have made an old man very happy. My thanks."

At bedtime, since I was pretty much not feeling sexy between my wound and my head being all tangled up with who I was and wasn't, or thought I was and wasn't, I ended up sitting out on the balcony for a while with Colin and Mi Kyong, telling them why I'd been making such crazy-stupid mistakes, what was in my head and refused to get out.

Once I'd finished, they both stared at me for a long, long, nervous-making moment— then Mi Kyong said, "Sister of my heart, I love you dearly, more than I can ever say, unless perhaps I learn to dance as Aunt Elaine does… but I wonder if you aren't insane."

"My thoughts exactly," Colin said. "Love, you're so good at what you do that it leaves me wishing you'd been on my Earth a few times when the going was tough. That sort of talent is no accident— it can't be.

"What you do and how you do it virtually scream of someone doing the job they were meant to do, the thing the universe put them in place to do."

"Yes," said Mi Kyong, nodding and squeezing my shoulder. "Jocelyn. Jocelyn, you are the one person that I have heard Buffy say she thinks should take her place as the Slayer-in-charge when she's too old. She says it… matter-of-factly. As though it's assumed, meant to be— and no one contradicts her.

"That is not the sign of an accident or a mistake. You were Chosen, Jocelyn, as surely as were any of us. The Scythe simply Chose you early… that you might be the best you could be as soon as possible."

"I know that the things you say make sense in a lot of ways," I said, stroking Royal's neck and not looking at either of them, "but I can't know. I can't… believe. I'm always going to wonder, and that… could get people hurt."

"Only if you let it," Colin said. He gently turned my face to look at him, gave me a smile that looked amused and serious at the same time, and said, "Do I need to set Angel and Faith on you, Jocelyn? Because you're starting to sound a lot like this guy I used to be, one who let doubt about something he couldn't have fixed or changed really mess him up. They fixed me up— maybe they could do the same for you.

"But I warn you— Angel may be only human, but the guy knows fighting tricks that I think Shadow Dragon would love to learn!"

I smiled a little, turned to smile at Mi Kyong, and said, "I don't think that would help. I guess I'll… muddle through. I just need… I don't know what I need."

"You need love," Mi Kyong said. "You need to be loved, cherished… cuddled. Fortunately, you are in the right place for that, and Colin seems more than willing."

"You'll be in a place even better for it when we get home," Colin said. He grinned at me, and added, "And before we go home… you get to see your aunt dance. I'll personally bet any amount you care to name that seeing that live and in person helps. Maybe it won't fix things, Jocelyn, but it will help."

I couldn't argue with that— so I just let them cuddle me and Royal for a while, then let Colin take me to bed and to sleep.


	20. Rehearsal, Recognition, Responsibility

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 20: Rehearsal, Recognition and Responsibility

James Tanner, recipient of multiple Oscars for his movie soundtracks, Grammys for his music both popular and orchestral, two-time performer at White House Command Performances, holder of god only knows how many gold and platinum records, is the only person Aunt Elaine even _considered_ having score Dance the Heavens Home— and he looks as much like a musician as Mi Kyong looks like a grizzly bear.

People tend to think of musicians (especially of those who write music, doubly so for those who write orchestral music) as people who are slender and geeky-looking, or pudgy and geeky-looking— but the geeky-looking qualifier is always in there. They don't look terribly physically active in our minds, they often wear glasses and look… well, soft somehow. Skinny-soft, fat-soft, even just not-in-shape soft. The reality of James was very different from the expectation.

James Tanner stands an even six feet tall, weighs around a hundred and eighty pounds, and looks like he could beat the hell out of that grizzly bear that Mi Kyong looks nothing like. He's got the permanent bronzing of a man who loves the outdoors, long, light brown hair that he wears loose around his shoulders (except in a micro or zero gravity environment, when everyone with long hair wears it pulled back in a ponytail, and, if they're smart, wraps the tail— hair floating around your head can get you killed), and the physique of a serious athlete for whom strength is important. At forty, he still looks thirtyish, and he has a smile that can make a person attracted to a certain type of male fall instantly into desire.

"Okay," he said, strolling into the suite behind Linnea at noon the next day, "first thing; Elaine, it's about goddamn time!

"Second thing; my name is James. All here will call me James. No Mister Tanner, no Jim, and very emphatically no Jimmy. Use of Jimmy will be met with wanton acts of extreme violence.

"Third thing; Elaine, it's _about goddamn time!"_

Aunt Elaine, laughed, hugged him, and introduced everyone. James got all four new names right in one try (me, Mi Kyong, Colin and Ethan), agreed to autograph Mi Kyong's copy of Dance the Heavens Home (Aunt Elaine had given Mi Kyong her own copy), introduced his own pseudo dragon pal, a sturdy-looking chrome-colored female named Muse (inevitable name, I suppose), and sat down to lunch with us.

After lunch, he and Aunt Elaine went off to a smaller zero-gee chamber above the axis of the Station, him with a large portable synthesizer over his arm, her in dance clothes. I didn't see them again before morning— they worked until after eleven that night.

I spent the day inside, running around and playing tourist with Colin and Mi Kyong, since a spacesuit wasn't a good idea with my still-healing shoulder. Aunt Sh'rin stayed in with the younger kids, since getting into a spacesuit with her arm in a lightweight plastic cast, while feasible, was awkward. Uncle Ballard and the oldest of their kids— Nathaniel, Linnea and Autumn— spent the day checking out and ordering movie cameras that were rated for use in space, then taking an advanced zero-gravity-spacesuit-movement course. The three kids would be the stagehand-types, and Uncle Ballard would be a cameraman, with other cameras being run by professional cameramen who were used to working in space— not so hard, when you realized that Asimov Station had its own film studio for making documentaries and tourist-information films about the station. (In addition, they shot a lot of stuff for science fiction movies and television shows, mostly background shots and such.)

The next morning when he came to join us for breakfast, James looked… glazed. Overloaded, sort of. Aunt Rose took a long look at him, then spoke.

"James, are you okay?" Aunt Rose asked. "You look… stoned."

James looked at Aunt Rose for a moment, then said in a low voice, "It's that good, Rose. What Elaine is going to dance… it's _that good_."

We all sat and stared for a moment— then Aunt Elaine said, "He exaggerates."

"Demonstration-dancing inside the station, no view of space— and that view can only magnify what you're doing— she had me crying so hard I couldn't see my keyboard," James said in a matter-of-fact tone. "Does that sound like an exaggeration to anyone here?"

We all sat silently for a second, then turned to look at Aunt Elaine, who blushed deeply.

"Well… his music is just as good— and that was very rough ideas, just framing out what he's going to do later," said Aunt Elaine, sounding almost defensive.

"Okay, now I'm triply glad you invited me along," Colin said. "I have to see this! And hear it— and I get to do so live!"

By the next morning, I was all healed up, and I got to go outside some, where I mostly listened to Uncle Ballard talk the kids through the essentials of playing stagehand in space. Mostly, they'd be responsible for the lighted markers that marked the edge of Aunt Elaine's dance space. Well, that and staying out of the way of the cameras.

I did very little of anything constructive over our time on Asimov Station. I didn't talk to my parents or anyone after my freakout— but I did get email from them saying that I was to stress nothing, just to play and enjoy my time up on the Station. They were honest enough to tell me that they were upset— but that it wasn't anger, it was worry. That left me… well, so relieved that I can't properly tell you. I knew I'd been a dumbass, and on top of my other recent stupid moments, I was afraid they'd be angry.

So I played a lot, I learned a lot— I took a Basics of Zero Gravity Combat course, since I'm kind of a martial arts addict, and one case of having to deal with vampires in space meant that there might well be others— and I hopped into bed with Colin at every opportunity. I went on as many spacewalks as I could, I toured the observatory on the "top" of the Station and looked through the god-monster telescope there at Saturn and Jupiter, and at the freaking _Andromeda Galaxy!_

And most important of all (to me), the day before we went home, I watched Aunt Elaine _dance_.

From that dance, I can tell you bluntly that tears in a spacesuit are a freaking pain in the ass!

I can't describe this one, any more than I could describe Dance the Heavens Home— but in a little bit, I'll do what I can. Dimmed down, reduced to a filmed image… maybe I'll have better luck, you know?

Before I get to that; after watching a practice run two days before the actual filming (and that in the indoor practice bubble, without the sheer impact that space only added to the thing), Uncle Ballard came back to our suite with his eyes still leaking tears— and a sad, hurt, brilliant, joyful smile on his face. Aunt Elaine and James weren't with him, they were still back at the practice bubble. Uncle Ballard hugged everyone in the suite long and hard, kissed the three of his wives who were present like he meant it, then said, "I need to make some phone calls, people. Then… then I need to make love to my wives— Elaine will be home by then— then I need to sleep.

"Phone calls first. Don't hold dinner for me, I may be a while, and this is _important_."

We left him to it, curious though we were, and he was on the phone for most of four hours. When he came out, Aunt Elaine had been back for two hours, we'd all eaten, and Uncle Ballard stopped to eat before he'd say a word. Once he'd eaten, Aunt Elaine asked what he'd done.

"Several things, one of which you'll have to wait for— it's a surprise." Uncle Ballard gave us all a grin, then said, "First off… dear, you're going to be fabulously wealthier than you are right now, and soon. All six networks are preparing themselves for an auction— we're going to auction off the rights to broadcast this. Don't you argue with me, dammit!" Aunt Elaine closed her mouth, looking shocked, and Uncle Ballard went on. "We'll still release it as a DVD, and it will still sell like mad, honey— but as many people as possible _need to see this!_ All the world needs to see it, and the best way to expose it to the most numbers is network TV. I've put out a list of rules, and made it plain that these rules are immutable, and then I made plain that this is a one-time event— no re-broadcast rights written in, period, no exceptions. They want that, they can bid again. You hold copyright to the video and the music— I already made a deal with James on that, he'll be very damned wealthy over it, and he said to tell you to, quote 'shut the hell up, because without you, I'd never have written this music,' end quote.

"I'll work out foreign broadcast rights through your agent, too— but that's just money stuff.

"The big thing… folks, I want you all to promise me something. Something big, something important, something… I'm asking a lot, here, but once you see, you'll understand.

"I want everyone here to promise me that you will not discuss this performance with anyone on Earth until they have seen it for themselves. That very much, very emphatically and very especially includes our extended families. All of them. Again, folks, once you see, you'll understand!

"I want our families to see this under controlled conditions, and I've already made arrangements for that. On the afternoon of July the Fifth, we're all going to the Palace theater, where I've paid for every seat in the largest auditorium, with the largest screen and the best sound, three-d capable, of course… and all of our family and friends will see this together, which I think they very much need to do.

"Then on the sixth of July… the world will see it. On the following Tuesday, we sit back and watch the money roll in as the DVD is released.

"But seriously, people… no one talks to our family. Please?"

For a long moment, no one said a thing.

"I promise," Mi Kyong said. "After Dance the Heavens Home… yes. I promise."

"I promise," I said. "I trust you, Uncle Ballard."

That started a flood, which finished when Aunt Elaine said, "Ballard… thank you. You understand, I can tell by what you're asking. I promise."

She kissed him after that, and thirty seconds later, Uncle Ballard and his wives had gone to bed.

Colin and I followed suit.

Two days later, the day before we were scheduled to go home, Aunt Elaine, wearing her thirty million dollar spacesuit with a simple white leotard under it, and compressed air jets on her wrists and calves, _danced_.

We took a rented shuttle out to a place well beyond the Station's usual orbit, and we found another, military-looking shuttle (Air Force markings were a dead giveaway) parked in the area. Uncle Ballard said it was okay, they were supposed to be there, and would say no more.

Half an hour later, the cameras and carefully gauged and placed lights had been set up, James had put the CD that had his score— recorded on Earth by the London Symphony Orchestra as soon as he'd completed it— into his synthesizer, which he'd be playing real-time for some more modern instrument sounds (guitars and keyboards, mostly), and Uncle Ballard called for radio silence, told us all to set our radios on a rarely used frequency, then to disable our microphones. Just before we did, Mi Kyong, Linnea, Erin and I all chorused "Blow a gasket!" into our mikes— causing Aunt Elaine to chuckle and Uncle Ballard to laugh aloud as we gave her the Star-Dancers' version of "break a leg" from the books that had inspired her to do this.

I saw a lot of people in spacesuits come out of the Air Force shuttle as Aunt Elaine moved to her mark, but ignored them— Uncle Ballard said it was okay, so it was.

Ten second later, the music started— and I saw the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

I was shaken to the very core of myself by the time she was done— it felt like I'd been watching Aunt Elaine dance for days, and like it had only been a few seconds. I was glad to get back to the shuttle, because I _really_ needed a fistful of tissues.

When Aunt Elaine got inside, Uncle Ballard grabbed her first, helped her get her helmet off, kissed the ever-loving heck out of her, said in a slightly weepy voice, "That, wife of mine, was a freaking _take!"_— and passed her to Aunt Rose, who kissed her even more urgently.

After we'd all kissed her and hugged her, Aunt Elaine strapped herself into a seat— and went to sleep for the half hour ride back to Asimov Station, her pseudo dragon Charm curled up in her arms. (The pseudo dragons had watched from the shuttle, along with the pilots— and they were as floored as we humans were.)

When we got back to the Station, we saw that Air Force shuttle parked in the slot next to ours— and when we got off, there was a double line of marines in full dress uniforms standing on either side of the hall to the spacesuit locker room.

Uncle Ballard made us all wait, made Aunt Elaine get off first, and as soon as she stepped on the decks of the station, a marine Major who was standing off to one side said, "Present… arms!"

All twelve of the marines lining the hall drew their sabers, raised them so that the hilts were at the level of their mouths, and held them there as Aunt Elaine looked around in shocked delight.

After a moment, the major called, "Order… arms!" and the marines snapped their hands down to their sides, holding the swords up along their arms, braced against their shoulders. As they did that, a man stepped into view at the end of the hall— and Aunt Elaine, as Aunt Rose would say… "meeped!"

"Ms. Marshall," said Alex Halstead, the President of the United States, standing there with tear tracks on his face and not caring at all who saw them, "it is both an honor and a pleasure to meet you. After what I just saw… both are far more than doubled."

The President made no explanation of his presence, just spoke to Aunt Elaine very graciously for a few moments, told her how incredibly amazing she was, let all of us get introduced, was very nice to all of us, introduced us all to his pseudo dragon friend, a tiny, deep blue male named Thunderbird (the President had been a member of the Air Force's precision flying team, the Thunderbirds, for a while), and spoke to us all kindly.

"I'm afraid I can't stay," the President said, after the introductions and maybe ten minutes of talking about what he'd seen. "I'm due back on Earth soon. Ms. Marshall… thank you. And thank you, Mr. Innes, very much."

With that, he left— and once he was gone, Aunt Elaine rounded on Uncle Ballard, and slapped him playfully on the shoulder.

"How the hell did you pull that off, Ballard Innes!?" Aunt Elaine demanded. "And so help me god, if you try to dodge the question, I will use your birth name _in public,_ mister!"

"I knew the President was up at Armstrong City," Uncle Ballard said, referring to the small city that the United States had established on the moon. "I also knew, from something he said when asked what his favorite piece of art was in an interview once, that he's a big fan— so I called some people, managed to make it known to him that you'd be doing this today. After that, it was all him, love."

She kissed him half to death, then— and we all went to dinner.

The next day, we went home, and I know that I fended off several hundred questions about Aunt Elaine's dance— I said not one word. I fully understood, after seeing it, why Uncle Ballard wanted that kept quiet, wanted no one ready for it in any way.

That evening after we got home, Mom, Dad, Giles, Kelly, Xander, Buffy, Willow and Aunt Dawn asked to speak to me, and I knew it was about my freakout. I went, trying to brace myself for what was coming.

Once we'd all sat down— in the study, and on couches and chairs, making it plain this was informal, which made it a lot easier— Daddy spoke.

"Jocelyn," Dad said, standing up and moving to where everyone could see him, "I think you probably know what this is about."

"Yes, sir," I said. "It's about my refusal to take a team out while we were on Asimov Station."

"Yes," Dad said. He gave me a long, assessing look, then said, "I'm not going to yell about what happened, Jocelyn. None of us are. It's over, it's done, and you know you were wrong. You've admitted it, and you rectified the problem, took the duty, and comported yourself well.

"However… sweetheart, speaking strictly as your father, not as your Watcher, I'm very disappointed that you didn't come to one of us to talk about what was bothering you."

"We're all disappointed, Jocelyn," Mom said softly. "Sweetie, you… you ain't never hid somethin' that was hurtin' you before, an' we don't understand why you did this time. It's a little scary, and a little bit angry-makin'— but we're tryin' to understand. Can you help us?"

"I don't know," I said miserably. "I don't— I don't even know why it started, I j-just… I can't stop thinking about it, and it won't go away, everything Aunt Dawn and Colin and Mi Kyong said about why I'm wrong makes sense, but it won't go away!

"I don't feel like I was supposed to be a Slayer, and I can't… stop… feeling it!"

I was crying by then, and to my surprise, it was Buffy who hugged me first.

"You were meant for this, Jocelyn," Buffy said against my ear. "I know, you don't feel like it right now, and I don't know what we can do about that— but I know, we all know, that you were meant to be a Slayer. We've known you your whole life, and we're all sure."

She let go and Daddy and Mom were there, hugging me, helping me calm down.

When I was okay again, I said, "I'm sorry, but I still don't… I still don't feel _right_. Could I… do you think Diane could maybe help me?"

"We'll find out," Giles said, letting out a sigh that told me he was hoping I'd been going to ask that. "I'm certain she'll try Jocelyn, and I'll be very surprised if she can't."

"In the meantime," Xander said, "we're going to take you off the roster of team leaders, and for solo missions. Not a punishment, Jocelyn, just trying to take the pressure down a couple of notches."

"Thank you!" I said with total sincerity. "And I want to train more, more and harder, until I get my head on right."

"We'll give you some extra training, but not too much," Aunt Dawn said. I opened my mouth to protest that there was no such thing as too much right now, and she held up a hand to forestall me, then added, "Not up for negotiation, Jocelyn. You still need down time, and working yourself too hard will only make things worse, not better. Some extra training time— but when we say enough, we mean it. No sneaking off to do katas or forms, or to do Capoeira, or read the Watchers' Journals. Down time is mandatory, and will be enforced with a blunt object, if necessary. And before you get any ideas, _Buffy_ will be wielding said blunt object."

"Monday the eighth, you go back into training," Daddy said. "Until then, kata and forms every day, some Capoeira because you love it, and nothing else. Also Monday, you start working with Diane, if she's amenable, and I'm sure she will be."

"Tomorrow is the Fourth of July," Willow said. "We'll be doing the usual picnic and playing around at Miller Park all afternoon and evening. Friday is the day we all get to see what none of you poop-heads who've already seen it will tell us anything about and… and it's Joyce's birthday. Then Saturday, we all watch it again on TV, and Sunday, day off— Monday, you go to work."

"Okay," I said. I hugged Mom and Dad both to me— they were back on either side of me— and said, "I'll do it your way."

"Very well, then the matter is closed," Giles said. He looked at me and added, "Jocelyn… if you need to talk, any of us will listen. You are aware of that, I hope?"

"Yes, Giles," I said. "I know— but it's not… I can't. Not yet."

"All right, then." He stood, said, "I don't suppose I could bribe you into telling us about the dance Elaine did? A Barnes and Noble's gift card for a hundred dollars, shall we say?"

"No way," I said with a laugh. "Aunt Rose and Aunt Elaine will beat me silly if I talk."

"Giles!" Aunt Dawn warned. "No bribing the kids! You'll find out soon enough."

Mom, Dad and I went outside, and I asked if I could go for a walk if I stayed on Giles's property.

"Just got home," I said. "And as much as I loved the Station, I missed the woods. May I?"

"Sure, honey-girl," Daddy said, and hugged me one-armed. "Be inside by nine, please? It's eight, now, and I know, you're fourteen, but… Warren and Catherine."

"By nine," I agreed, hugging him and Mom both. "Promise. And Royal will be with me, so I have a way of yelling for help if something happens."

I went back to the stream at the edge of Giles's property, sat with Royal curled up contentedly on my legs, and I breathed the smell of trees and wildflowers, and relaxed a lot. My family wasn't angry at me, they wanted to help me, and they were trying to let me do things on my terms. I felt much better, despite the tired that came from being back in normal gravity.

I sat and I stroked Royal, and I zoned out— until something started rustling in the bushes across the stream. That made me sit up and stare— little paranoid, sure, but hey, a friend was dead and we had enemies. I started to stand up— and aborted that when a dog came trotting out of the woods on the far side of the stream, tail wagging, mouth hanging open in a doggy grin. He started trotting towards me, and Royal sent, _*Jocelyn… I think that's a puppy. Not a dog, a_ puppy! _My god, he's huge!_*

I blinked and stared as the animal came across the stream in great big splashy bounds, tail wagging furiously, and tripping over his own paws. That made me think Royal was right— for the second I had before the puppy was standing beside me and shaking himself dry, half-drenching me and Royal both. Then he started licking my face, pausing to bark excitedly a time or two (which was good, it gave me a chance to breathe— puppy breath, ugh!). His barks were big, loud, fairly deep— and still puppyish. Weird, but funny.

Royal climbed up to my shoulder to get a closer look at the puppy— who promptly climbed into my vacated lap. Or, well— he tried. He didn't really fit. Already, his shoulders would come above my knees. I petted him and scratched his ears, ignoring the fact that he was dirty as all heck, and took a good look at him. He had to be a mutt, I decided, but he would probably be pretty when he was clean. Big, like I said, and from his paws, I could see that he would be huge at full growth. Mostly black, with a gray undercoat, and a gray bib and belly. The tips of his ears were gray, too, and the tip of his tail. Despite being dirty and wet, his coat felt very soft, and I could tell that he had a thick ruff on his neck and shoulders like a Husky.

"No collar," I said after checking. "And he's too thin. I think he's a stray.

_*He's very happy to see a person,*_ Royal sent. _*He likes people._*

"Oh, jeeze," I said, looking at the puppy. His eyes were an arresting gold color, and I cop— looking into them was a big mistake. I loved dogs in general, and those bright gold eyes sort of caught me. "Well… I think I have to ask Mom and Dad a question."

_*I'm shocked,*_ Royal said in my head, his mental voice desert dry. _*No, truly— a teenage girl falling in love with a puppy, who'd ever believe it._

_*But… I like him, too, if you think that will help with your parents._*

I got up, moving the puppy's front half off of my legs, and patted my thigh. He followed me as we walked out of the woods, and I saw Mom, Dad, Willow, Lydia and Uncle Ethan sitting on the back porch of our house— huge, sprawling thing, that porch, well shaded by roof and trees, always delightfully cool in the evenings.

"Um, Dad?" I called as we approached. "Mom? Could you guys come down here a second?"

All five of them came, once Mom said, "Good lord, is that a horse beside you, Jocelyn?"

I dropped to one knee beside the puppy as Daddy came down and squatted in front of him and said, "Where'd this moose come from?"

"I don't know," I said. "I was sitting in my usual spot by the stream, and he came out of the woods on the other side and came right to me. Isn't he big?"

"He's big now," Daddy said, picking up one of his paws. "I think he's headed for huge. Or possibly gargantuan, look at these paws!"

"Um, Dad, Mom… could we… well, keep him?" I asked. "I mean— no collar, and look how thin he is, he's obviously got no owner, but he likes people, and he's… well, he's awful cute.

"Oh, and Royal likes him, too!"

"Uh-huh," Daddy said. He looked at me for a minute, then said, "If we keep him, he's your dog, honey. Your responsibility. You train him, you clean up after him until he's housebroken, you feed him. I'll give you the books I bought when I got Abraham, but you do the training. I'll pay for his food— Powers grant that I have the money!— and his vet bills, but he's entirely your responsibility. Understood?"

"Yes, Dad," I said. "Mom, is it okay with you, too?"

"Same conditions as your Dad's, but oh, yeah— he's a cutie," Mom said, grinning at me. "And I'm tellin' you right now, sugar, this one can be a furniture dog as much as Abe is— but if he knocks me on the floor, you pick me up!"

I hugged her, then Daddy, and because I was hugging them, I never saw them look at Willow— and wink. Didn't see her wink back and buff her nails, either. Finks, all of them— and I love them for it.

"I think I'd better start with a bath," I said. "He's in dire need. Can I use the old wading pool?"

"Be a better idea to use the shower in the basement, I think," Mom said. "Looks like he's carryin' a farm's worth of dirt in his coat, you'll be changin' water 'til three in the morning if you use the pool, sugar."

"Daddy?" I asked.

"Your mother's got a point," Daddy said. "Go on, honey-girl."

"Have you decided what you're going to name yonder great beast yet, my dear?" Uncle Ethan asked.

"Actually, yeah, I have, Uncle Ethan," I said, grinning. "I swear, a couple times when he was bounding around, I think I felt the ground shake— so I'm going to call him Richter!"

Everyone laughed as I took my puppy in to give him a much needed bath.

_Interlude: Outside the Penobscot house_

Once Jocelyn and the puppy had gone inside, Whitey Penobscot looked sharply at Willow Rosenberg and said, "Willow… I thought we agreed you'd summon her a puppy— not a baby elephant!"

"It's not my fault!" Willow said. "I just used the parameters you gave me— a big dog with lots of fur, a good disposition, and one who'd love Jossie as much as she loves him. I can't help it if he's bigger than some cars!"

"Next time we do something like this," Whitey said, shaking his head in amusement, "remind me to specify _medium_-big."

"You love him already an' you know it," Chantelle said, tickling his ribs.

"True enough," Whitey said. "I love dogs— and Abe… well, the old fellow's getting up there, I'm afraid. This way, we'll still have a dog around after he's gone."

"Oh, stop being a downer," Chantelle said. "Abe's got some good years left in him, still, honey."

"Excuse me," Ethan said, raising a finger. "I don't mean to interrupt, but… 'summon her a puppy?' Could someone explain that, please?"

"Ride with me to Wal-Mart to get him some bowls, a collar and a leash," Whitey said. "I'll explain on the way."

They left and the women went inside to wait for Jocelyn to bring the cleaned up puppy back up with her.

_Jocelyn:_

I put on a swimsuit and gave Richter a bath. He loved the water, didn't fight me at all, unless you count trying to play while I lathered him up with dog shampoo. Silly puppy!

I got him cleaned and towel-dried while Royal watched from the top of the shower door and kibitzed, and decided to go up and sit on the hearth in the living room to brush him. Didn't surprise me at all to find Mom, Willow, Lydia, Colin, Mi Kyong and all my sibs in there, though Daddy and Ethan weren't there.

I found a brush we used for Abe, sat on the hearth in front of the fireplace— no fire in the heart of summer, of course— and started brushing Richter while my sibs and Colin and Mi Kyong came over to meet him. He loved the attention, seemed to love all the people, and was positively fascinated by the pseudo dragons. While I brushed Richter's back, Royal climbed off of my shoulder and sat in front of him, shoved his head close enough for Richter to smell him easily. Richter snuffled at my best friend for a moment— then gave him an enthusiastic lick that almost sent Royal tumbling backwards.

We all laughed at that, and Royal even chuckled himself— then came and lay on the hearth next to my leg and gave Richter an occasional affectionate head-bump.

When it came time to brush Richter's belly, he lay sprawled on his back, grinning up at me— he liked being brushed as much as Abe did, apparently. Daddy came in with a collar for him, told me he had his own dishes in the kitchen and a leash on the rack next to the door, beside Abe's leash. (Not that Abe spent a lot of time on the leash, but when we went somewhere public, he had to deal with it, did so with good grace even.)

While Daddy was examining Richter's paws again in disbelief, Abe himself wandered in from the kitchen, where a dog-door let him come and go as he pleased. He wandered over, saw me brushing another dog, and came over to sit and watch. He chuffed quietly, sort of a "Who's this?" noise, and Daddy reached over and scratched his ears.

"Abe, this is Richter. He's an apprentice family dog— think you could show him the ropes?" Daddy grinned at his dog— Abe loved all of us, but he was Mom and Dad's dog first— and said, "How about it, bud? I'd like him to learn from a master."

Abe stood, walked the rest of the way over to me and Richter, and pressed his nose to the puppy's, shared breath with him for a moment. After a few seconds of that, Richter licked Abe's chin— and both of them started wagging their tails cheerfully. I breathed a sigh of relief— if they hadn't liked each other, it would have been a disaster— and said, "Thank you, Abe."

I finished brushing Richter while Abe and he sat and grinned at each other, and Royal purred that bubbling-cackling sound of a delighted dragon.

"Friday morning, we'll take him to the vet for his shots and a checkup," Daddy said as Richter rolled to his feet and sat half on my lap. "There's puppy chow in the kitchen with Abe's food— I haven't put any out for him yet. Don't give him more than half a bowl right now, he'll get sick. I did put out water for him, though."

"Thanks, Daddy," I said, still sitting and petting Richter's damp fur. "You know, you're gonna be gorgeous once you're dry, Richter."

"I can help with that," Willow said, and waved a hand while whispering something. A warm breeze seemed to emanate from Richter for a second— and just like that, he was dry. "There— and wow, you called that right."

Clean and dry, Richter really was gorgeous, too thin and all. His fur was actually silky to the touch, though his undercoat was thick and rough. When you stroked him, you could see that undercoat for a moment, a flash of silver-gray under the black— beautiful.

"Thank you, Willow," I said. "Wow— Richter, are you sure you don't have a wooly mammoth somewhere in your family tree? Pup, you're part moose, at least!"

I fed him, gave him water, took him outside on the leash so he could do his business, and found yet another reason to be glad I had Slayer-strength. If I'd been normal, I'm pretty sure he'd have dragged me around. He wasn't that big, no, and he needed more muscle on him— but what he had was powerful.

That night, after Colin and I had made love, Royal moved up to lay on my pillow above my head, Nightfall curled up on Colin's stomach— and Richter hopped up on my bed and went to sleep across the foot.

That's how I met my _other_ best friend.


	21. To Dance a Prayer

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 21: To Dance a Prayer

Thursday was the Fourth of July, and we had a blast. We all felt sad a few times, missing Alex, but mostly, we were okay. Joyce, Buffy and Xander got hit the most and the hardest by the sad, but they dealt with it pretty well.

We stayed in the park from about one in the afternoon until after ten-thirty at night, eating a big supper cooked by Daddy and my brother Stephen on the grill around six, played many silly games, went through the small but well-stocked zoo in the park, saw friends from school and their families, and generally had an excellent time.

A lot of extra people showed up, having been invited not just for the Fourth, but to stay and see Aunt Elaine's dance the next day. Graham was there with Thomas, Angel, Faith and Helena showed up, Lissette Tranh from the DC contingent showed up with her husband and two little boys, and Kimber Duncan came, too. She'd been unable to come for Alex's funeral and stuff, since her duties as a Guardian had her tangled up in a giant mess under the Himalayas, helping to stop a war between some yeti clans and a species of benign demons that lived in tunnels under the mountain. She had with her a woman whom she was very obviously involved with, a Tibetan native whom she'd met and fallen in love with over the six months she'd been in Tibet. Wesley and Fred came, as did Gunn and Brianne. (Brianne would be watching the dance through the eyes of her pseudo dragon, Jedi.) Delia Kent showed up, with her long-time boyfriend, a START captain, and she had on a newly-acquired engagement ring. Sara Lamont and Chelsea Yoder came up from Australia again, and Andrew and some of his girls, including his adopted daughter Jenny, came from Italy. Others came as well, including a welcome surprise; Kate Lockley, an ex-cop turned freelance demon-hunter, who lived and worked in Denver, a long time friend of Angel (and through him, the rest of us), showed up. She looked sort of rough, having only recently recovered from a battle with a Jaxanid demon (think a scorpion mated with a weasel and blown up to the size of a horse and you'll get the idea) that had left her with a couple of new scars, one on her face— and a permanent limp and cane, thanks to one knee being pretty much destroyed. (It should be noted, however, that she killed the hell out of the Jaxanid in the end, saving the lives of a whole classroom full of kindergarteners. She did the job, and without any special powers. Nifty lady.)

"Giles," Kate said, once she'd shaken hands with most everyone, accepted hugs from a few of us (she's kind of reserved, not very physically affectionate— made me feel good, because I'm one of the few she hugged). "You've offered me a job with the Watchers' Council pretty much every time I've seen you since we first met in oh-three. I've always said that I'd take it when I got too old to fight on the front lines. Well, I may not be too old, but I seem to have gotten a bit too infirm. Is the offer still open?"

"Of course it is," Giles said, making his grip on her hand two-handed. "Welcome to the Council, Kate.

"Tomorrow we can discuss your capacity of service— but do let me plant a couple of ideas for you to think about, please; you may serve in the traditional capacity of Watcher, advising a team, assisting them directly, or you may act as an instructor, training young Watchers and Slayers— and Guardians, now that I think about it— in the art of investigation. Given your long expertise in that field, and your experience as both a police officer and private investigator, I am sure that you could teach the next generation quite a lot."

"I'll think about that, thank you," Kate said. She grinned wickedly and said, "I can even teach them how to deal with a brooding mystery-man who keeps popping up in their lives, complicating every case beyond belief and driving them half-crazy trying to figure out who he is and how he does what he does.

"Oh, hello, Angel— I didn't see you there."

"Yeah, right," he said, hugging Kate. "You look like you bounced back pretty well— you must've worked really hard at the therapy, they said you'd probably need a brace and those fitted crutches."

"Yeah, I busted my ass," Kate said. "Cane I can deal with— those crutch-things— ugh. I'd go nuts.

"Still, on the plus side… I get all the good parking places, now."

We all laughed and went on with having fun.

It was a hell of a good day. I spent time with Joyce, walking and talking, and we ended up sitting in a quiet corner of the park near some trees, crying some over Alex and how much we missed him. It did us both some good.

The fireworks… well, the city had been very prosperous over the last sixteen years, being the twin city to Normal, the seat of the Watchers' Council. Tourists flocked to Illinois's Twin Cities to see the place where the truth of the supernatural had come out, where one of the most important battles ever against supernatural evil had been fought, and it did both towns a lot of good. So they spent a ton on fireworks, producing an hour-long show that really dazzled people.

"Jocelyn," Colin said about half way through things, "I'm going to disappear near the end of things. I'd like to add my own little touch to this— think of it as my way of paying my respects to my adopted home."

I agreed, and Colin slipped away when there were maybe ten minutes left in the show. Then, just as the fireworks-American-flag got lit, he showed back up— with style.

A ribbon of light suddenly appeared in the sky, maybe a hundred feet up, starting behind the place where the experts were lighting the fireworks and encircling the park in about ten seconds. It was a striped ribbon, red, white and deep blue light, twisting in a gentle spiral as it circled the park, and spiraling up into the sky in an ever-tightening loop as people stared and oo-ed and ah-ed.

At the peak of his patriotic double-spiral, Colin stopped in the sky, and flashed once, all three colors in a slowed, swelling burst of light just bright enough to dazzle the eyes a little— and while people were still blinking away the afterimages, he landed in the cemetery across the street from the park and trotted back over to us.

Once I'd finished kissing him, pretty much everyone hugged him, thanked him and told him that he'd made a beautiful touch to the end of the show.

"How did you do that?" Thomas asked as we all sat down to wait for the park to empty a bit before starting out ourselves.

"Not that hard," Colin said. "My default glow is white-gold, but you know from the comics that I can change it with concentration. Well, I just concentrated pretty hard, put my arms straight out from my sides and made my right hand and arm glow red, my body glow white, and my left hand and arm glow blue, then flew the spiral pattern while doing slow barrel rolls."

"Gorgeous," Thomas said with a sigh. "Thanks again."

"Yes, thank you," Vincent rumbled. He had Vi curled up under one arm, their daughters Beth and Cathy under the other. "I love fireworks, have since I first saw them— right here, fifteen years ago today— and that was the most beautiful finish I've ever seen to a fireworks show."

We all went home about ten-thirty, and slept well and happily.

In the morning, people were all abuzz about the upcoming viewing of Aunt Elaine's dance, and stayed buzzy all morning.

After breakfast, Daddy took me and Richter to the veterinarian he used for Abe, got my little buddy his shots (for which he behaved very well, such a good boy), and a surprise.

Daddy had asked what breeds the vet thought Richter might be, and his answer came as a bit of a shock.

"At a guess," Dr. Hogan said, "I'm going with a strong bit of Newfoundland from some of his bone structure and the sheer size of him. Maybe a dash of something else gigantic, like Irish Wolfhound… which may leave the poor fellow confused."

"Confused?" Dad said, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," Dr. Hogan said. "Because I'm pretty sure he's part wolf. Three-eighths, at a guess."

Dad blinked, looked at Richter, then back at the vet. "Uh, okay."

"Bone structure of his face, the paws… he's part wolf, Whitey." Dr. Hogan grinned, scratched Richter's head and said, "No need to worry— he's not going to go wild and attack people or anything. But he will be fiercely loyal, tenacious about protecting his people, and dangerous to people who try to break into your house."

"I'll be damned," Daddy said, looking amused. "Honey-girl, leave it to you to bring home a dog who's part wolf."

"I'm talented that way," I said, rubbing Richter's back. "That's my boy. Part wolf, all good dog."

We talked about diet and exercise, and went home. People found it funny that I'd found a puppy who was part cub, and no one seemed at all nervous about it. Makes sense— Richter was everyone's pal, happy to be petted and scratched, affectionate and cuddly.

In the afternoon, we had Joyce's favorite foods for lunch, and after lunch she opened her presents and we had cake. She seemed subdued, and got weepy a time or two— this was her first birthday without Alex, though, so that was to be expected— but she got hold of herself each time, and we let her have the time she needed for that.

She loved her present from Buffy and Xander, the SoundMaster I picked for her, and the iTunes gift card that Buffy had added to it, and Buffy made sure to give me credit for helping pick it out, which got me an extra hug. (I'd already gotten one super-hug for what I'd gotten her myself, a personalized-autographed copy of the newest book by her favorite author. I'd cheated, used Uncle Ballard to get it, as his insane riches and his contacts to the entertainment world through Aunt Elaine let him do some neat things like that— and I'd made sure to give him the credit for that, too.)

After the cake was eaten and the presents put away, I hugged Richter, told him to be a good boy, and we all left for the Palace theater to see Aunt Elaine's new dance on the big screen. (Or _in_ the big screen, maybe? It was in three-d, after all.)

Everyone who'd been at the Fourth of July picnic was there, as well as some other people— James Tanner, his very gorgeous date (a movie star who'd gotten very popular over the last five years), a bunch of Slayers from the New York group, Aunt Elaine's agent… and a superb and beautiful surprise for Aunt Elaine, one which left her in shocked and happy tears, and which I suspected might be the death of Uncle Ballard, as Aunt Elaine was sure to try and love him to death for it.

Spider Robinson stood waiting for us in the lobby just outside the theater that Uncle Ballard had rented for this, a party-red pseudo dragon (named Willis, I found out later, for Robert Heinlein's most memorable non-human character) sitting on his shoulder. Spider freaking _Robinson,_ the man who, with his (lamentably deceased) wife Jeanne had written the books that inspired Aunt Elaine to do this.

"Elaine," Mr. Robinson said. "Lady… it's a pleasure to be here."

She'd met him, of course, after he saw Dance the Heavens Home he'd made appoint of meeting her. Since then, they'd corresponded often.

But to have him here, now, for this? Uncle Ballard deserved to have all his wives and children, that's all I can say— no higher praise comes to mind.

Aunt Elaine hugged Mr. Robinson, held on for a long, long moment, then said, "Sit with me?"

"Bet on it," he said. "Think the introductions can wait? I'm about to pop for wanting to see this!"

She agreed, and we went in and got seated. Uncle Ballard made Aunt Elaine and Mr. Robinson sit in the best seats in the house, Joyce, Buffy and Xander on Elaine's other side, Uncle Ballard and the rest of Aunt Elaine's family in the row right behind them, the rest of us wherever we liked.

Once everyone was seated, Uncle Ballard pressed a button on his phone, said simply, "We're ready," and hung up.

The lights dimmed, and the screen went from dull silver to black. Words faded in— and I started leaking tears.

"For the memory of Alexander Liam Harris." That was all it said— and all it _needed_ to say.

Then there were stars, stars everywhere— and in the middle of them, a single human figure in a spacesuit so comparatively thin that you really didn't notice it, a figure in white, curled in on itself in grief.

Slowly, Aunt Elaine uncoiled, straightened, looked at the camera with a bleak expression on her face, the expression of someone who's lost someone they love. The music started then, a slow, deep dirge, pain-filled, yet powerful. In time with the music, Aunt Elaine moved from place to place, looking sad, reaching out to touch the people she'd lost, people you could almost see as her body undulated with grief and her hands caressed their invisible cheeks, hands, shoulders. I saw her grief for her parents, for her grandparents, for every Slayer who'd fallen in the Battle of Bloomington, for Aunt Rose's sister Laurie, for each and every Slayer who'd fallen since all of them were activated… and finally, I saw as plain as day her grief for Alex. Alex, just a boy, taken from her and everyone else who loved him far too soon and for no reason but insane hate.

The music kept its dirge-like feel, swelled and ebbed, but stayed sad and wounded.

Then back to the beginning, back to the loss of her parents, grieving still, differently, yes, but still grieving, and never mind the years between. She went through the whole cycle again, showing the change in the grief, the slow acceptance of it, but that "accepted" didn't mean "lessened." The music changed with her grief, gaining edges of grief, losing them to softer, sadder pain, swelling to knife-edged hurt and sinking again.

Then she curled in on herself again, shook with sobs and screams as the dirge softened, became a variation on the Funeral March— before she exploded into motion again. The music exploded with her, became a thing of rage and violence, hard, harsh percussion, flaring, angry brass, strings short and sharp like blows on the ear, and an electric guitar keening notes of horribly hurt anger slipping in, joining the orchestra.

Now she raged, she fought, she let death know that she hated it, that she wanted to kill death, make it stop taking people from her, from all of us. The music raged with her, fought back as another weapon in her arsenal, the drums slamming against the unfairness of fate, the strings slashing out, the horns and woodwinds sounding the call to battle. Aunt Elaine flew from place to place on jets of compressed air, twirling in a mad dance of violent opposition, arms and legs striking with speed, grace and power, with all the rhythm and grace of a dancer in consummate form, and a warrior at the very top of her game.

But every time, she was defeated. Death kept on defeating her, taking those she loved, leaving her to mourn, to berate herself for failure, to dance a scream of self-recrimination, loss and hate— then go on to the next battle.

Finally, Aunt Elaine stopped fighting, the music sinking to a low reprise of the funeral march with the electric guitar wailing along with it. She didn't even curl up, just hung there loosely among the stars for a long moment.

The music… shifted. Under the funeral march, behind it, sounded something else, something that slowly made it self known; the high, sweet notes of flutes, piping softly, gently, a little tune that almost screamed for attention. Aunt Elaine seemed to stiffen, and she looked up, up above the camera, and cocked her head as though listening. As she did so, the flutes swelled, harps joined in, and keyboards. They got louder, slowly drowning out the deeper sounds of horns and big string instruments, took on a definite theme; _hope!_

Aunt Elaine spun on her own axis, tumbled and rolled and yawed, turned on every axis at once, her arms and legs pulling her through that multiple-axis three-sixty, then stopped herself, and listened, her arms and legs beginning to move with the music seemingly without consulting her brain. Hope… it called to her, she heard it— but she didn't understand where to look for what it promised, you could see her confusion in every reaching motion, in every tentative "step" she took in any direction.

The music swelled, the whole orchestra joined in, and that theme of hope now had a counterpoint going through it, a frantic _seeking_ theme, as Aunt Elaine jetted from place to place, dancing hope and frustration at not finding hope's promised relief as she moved and stopped, looked, and moved again, growing every more eager, then more frustrated when she failed to find what she looked for.

She seemed to give up, to stop looking, to throw her head back and scream silently in frustration— and the music swelled again, held a single note. After a moment, the note went higher up the scale, calling to her— and Aunt Elaine looked slowly up. Her hands moved up from her sides, and for a moment, hesitated at shoulder level— then went up further, framed two bright, white stars between them, seemed to cup and hold those stars, to _cherish_ them. She spun, then, and her face lit up as she did so, as she _understood_.

Again, she reached up and cupped a pair of stars in her hands, older, dimmer stars— then she jet-danced her way to a new portion of the sky, spinning and gyrating in the joy of understanding— of knowing that hope is real, that existence continues after death, that death, while no person can _stop it,_ can be _beaten_— that death can never truly _win_.

Aunt Elaine flew around the space of her dance, her joy expressing itself in every movement as she located the stars that were those she'd lost, heard them acknowledge the finding, answer her as she told them she loved them, cupping them briefly in her hands. I saw her find Kennedy, Willow's love before Lydia, killed by Amy Madison's pet Slayer. Aunt Elaine found Linnea, for whom Aunt Dawn had named her daughter, cupped her star, loved her through it. She found Helena Parris, missing one hand and turning that to her advantage, Elise Morgan, stuck on crutches from an injury before she'd become a Slayer, who'd learned to fight using her crutches as weapons and done her share of damage anyway, Rona Thompson, a veteran of the Battle of the First who'd had stamina like nothing she'd ever seen before. She found and held Riley and Samantha Finn, founding members of START who'd given their all against Amy Madison, Vivian Chaucer, Vincent's first love, who had died in the Battle of Bloomington, used her dying breath to remind him that he was human, and that humans went on after those they'd love died. (Vivian's star was in the constellation of Leo— how perfectly wonderful that little touch was!)

And finally, slowly, Aunt Elaine looked around for the star that was Alex Harris, her pain at losing him and joy at discovering that he was still out there mingling on her face and in every motion of her dance. The music softened as she searched, swelled to a quiet crescendo as she reached up and cupped between her hands a star the precise shade of red that Alex's friend Chief had been, cradled it lovingly… and wept tears of relief and release as she danced those same emotions around the star that was Alex, telling him she loved him, telling him goodbye… for now.

Then the music became madcap joy and triumph, defied everything sad and hurtful, skirled up and let Aunt Elaine chase it laughing around the sky, darting from one loved and cherished star to another, dancing for them, telling them with her movements that she loved them, that she'd never forget them, never _stop_ loving them.

Finally, Aunt Elaine used her jets to fly a great circle, her long, lean body arcing cleanly as she flew a great, outward-spiraling circle, then jetted back to the center of her dance space and used the last of her jets to stop exactly in the center of the dance-space— and threw her arms and legs out wide in a last expression of joy and triumph.

As the scene faded, words faded in, words that not even those of us who'd seen the dance had known, the title of the dance….

Souls, Like Scattered Stars….

The credits started then— and they started with the words, "This dance was inspired by those I— and the people I love— have lost down the years," followed by a list of names that started with Aunt Elaine's parents, went through all the Slayers, family and friends we've lost. The list included Jeanne Robinson— and ended with Alex's name.

Then came the actual credits, then the lights came up— and Spider Robinson said in a low, reverential voice that broke with emotion, "Thank you, Elaine. God, thank you!"

Then the applause started— and for a small number of people, we made a hell of a lot of noise!

Joyce was on her feet and hugging Aunt Elaine two seconds in, and she only stopped when her mother gently pulled her away. Once Joyce was clinging to Xander, Buffy turned to Aunt Elaine, flung herself into Aunt Elaine's arms and hugged her, wept on her, clung to her and kissed her cheeks and lips repeatedly. Then came Xander's turn— then Spider Robinson took a turn, then everybody else, one at a time and in groups.

Afterward, the only thing to do was go have a party.

Spider Robinson got introduced around, insisted that we all call him Spider, and I've never met a man more instantly likeable than him. He ended up staying at Scooby Mansion for a few days, since Giles insisted, pointing out that without the dream Aunt Elaine had gotten from Stardance, well… we'd never have seen the two miracles she'd made. Spider accepted that with thanks— and for the next week, he was around, getting to know us, letting us get to know him, and generally becoming "Grandpa" to me as much as Giles was.

After dinner that night— a big dinner, ordered out, no one felt like cooking— we got to repay him some, thanks to my man.

"I just wish I could have seen that in space," Spider said. "Hell, for that matter, I wish I could go to space, period. But… I'm seventy years old, and the old bones won't take the acceleration."

I felt Colin, whom I was cuddled up to at the moment, shift, looked up to see him looking at Uncle Ballard with a raised eyebrow. Uncle Ballard nodded, grinning, but I didn't get it— I'm slow, sometimes.

"Spider," Colin said, gently untangling himself from me and standing, "you can go to space. Name the time, make the arrangements for a place to stay— and I'll get you up there. I'm sure Ballard can arrange things, he did it this last time."

Oh! I finally got it!

"I don't get you," Spider said, looking curious. "How can you get me up to orbit with smacking me around with seven gravities? You got an anti-gravity device in your pocket?"

Colin grinned— and he flew up to the ceiling, hovered there for a moment, said, "Not exactly, but it'll do 'til the real thing comes along."

"Holy shit," Spider said, staring at Colin with an expression of wonder and delight on his face. "You're… flying!"

"Yes," Colin said. "I can make escape velocity when I'm in a hurry, but I don't need to do that— I'm not limited by fuel concerns, so you never need to experience more than one gravity. We happen to have a fairly comfortable transport laying around that we used to get pseudo dragons to and from Asimov Station, and Sh'rin rode back with them, so her broken arm wouldn't be made worse."

"You… you'd do that for me?" Spider said. "I mean— I know, I helped write Stardance, but still—"

"But nothing," Uncle Ballard said. "You've done the whole world a favor, Spider. Well, we'll pay some of that back."

"I— yes!" Spider said, almost _shouted_. "Jesus Christ, _yes!"_

"Make the arrangements through Ballard," Colin said, dropping back to the ground, then to the loveseat we were sharing.

"Yes, I'll— yes!" Spider said. His grin grew wider, and he said, "Now— how the hell do you do that!?"

We spent the rest of the evening just talking and relaxing— wonderful.

The next day went quietly, a long, gentle progression of time that left everyone relaxed and comfortable. At seven, we gathered before the big screen TV in the living room of Scooby Mansion, with other TVs set up around the place so that everyone could see clearly. At five minutes to seven, all TVs were set to the local NBC station, since NBC had won the auction for the broadcast.

At seven, the screen went to the NBC logo, and a voice said, "NBC is proud to bring you, with limited commercial interruption, the broadcast premiere of Elaine Marshall's Dance the Heavens Home, followed by her new dance, recorded only three days ago."

We saw a single, long Pepsi commercial, featuring dancing as the central theme— then the screen switched to familiar features of Josh Hayward, a famous movie critic who worked for NBC sometimes, who said, "In 1979, science fiction author Spider Robinson and his wife, dancer and choreographer Jeanne Robinson, released a science fiction novel called Stardance, about the first human to go into space for the sole purpose of creating art, and the events that flowed forth from that action. That first section of that novel, a novella called, like the book, Stardance, won both the Hugo and Nebula awards for science fiction.

"In 2001, Elaine Marshall's dance teacher gave her a copy of the novel— and Elaine, a promising dancer herself, fell in love with the book.

"In 2013, Elaine Marshall fulfilled a dream she'd had since first reading that book, and created the dance she called Dance the Heavens Home, danced it in outer space and zero gravity— and the DVD of that dance has made her a fortune that she richly deserves.

"Three days ago, Elaine Marshall gave us a second dance— and her husband arranged with us to broadcast it, with her permission. NBC chairman David Nordstrom spoke to the lady herself later, and received permission to broadcast Dance the Heavens Home before broadcasting the new dance, whose title we will not reveal until it is seen at the end of the performance— because to do so would be to cheat you, the audience.

"Dance the Heavens Home is twenty two minutes with the credits, and it will run without interruption. After it ends, there will be a two minute commercial break, then we will go directly to the new dance, run it straight through with no interruption— because interrupting it would be a crime. It's thirty-three minutes and change, with the credits, and will be followed by a thirty second commercial before we return to our usual Saturday night schedule.

"Grab a box of tissues, folks— you'll need them.

"Now… watch!"

And they started Dance the Heavens Home. When it ended, we saw a two minute commercial for Asimov Station and its numerous attractions— then the screen went black, and the world went away again.

Souls, Like Scattered Stars lost none of its power on a third viewing. When it ended, we again did the only thing to do after seeing an accomplishment like that— and we had a quiet little party. Again!

The next morning, we found out that Aunt Elaine's dances— heavily advertised in every single media known to man from the moment the papers were signed— had earned NBC TV the highest ratings ever earned by an hour of television by almost half again the previous record-holder. Damn near every newspaper in the world reviewed it, and the vast majority gave it their highest rating.

(The New York Times had a dance critic who published her shortest review ever, consisting of "There are no words. If you didn't see it, buy the DVD as soon as it's on the stands. If you don't want to see it, please resign from the human race." That and six stars on a five star scale!)

Aunt Elaine could probably have walked on up to Asimov Station under her own power after that if it weren't for the need to breathe.

Sunday was one of those perfect, heavenly days full of nothing but happy things. I'd read the books Dad gave me over the last couple of days, and I started training Richter by the methods they suggested Sunday, which was a lot more like play than work. I did a lot of Capoeira, working out with Uncle Ballard, Aunt Dawn and Aunt Elaine, while Spider watched, amazed and delighted with the art. I went to bed for a while with Colin, then went to play a quiet game of Scrabble with Spider, who stomped me into the ground quite cheerfully, and made me laugh while he did it. After that, I went for a long, quiet walk with Richter and Royal, then went home and listened to people talk about nothing much for a bit, before going to bed with Colin and, after we stopped making love, our pseudo dragons and Richter got up on the bed and slept with us.

The next day, I went back into training, working myself as hard as my teachers would let me, then spending a hard, hurtful late afternoon trying vainly to explain to Diane Hodges exactly why never having been actively Chosen by the Scythe hurt me so much, left me feeling so hopelessly inadequate. I had very little luck, but she didn't let that phase her, and didn't let me blame myself for the failure— she jollied me out of it with cheerful threats of calling me Jossie, of beating me about the head and shoulders with a wiffle ball bat, and having Endorphin use my bed as a litter box.

"Jocelyn," Diane said after I'd stopped giggling over that last image, "no blame, here— the big things I'm looking at are these; you're trying, really trying, not just going through the motions— I'm a pro, I can tell the difference— and you came to me. You didn't wait for someone to suggest talking to me, you asked for it. That says to me that you know you're goofy in the emotions, and that you know you're goofy says that I must be Donald Du— no, wait, that's not right.

"It says that you're really trying to get past this, and that says that you will, sooner or later. Patience will out. Give it time. Give _yourself_ time.

"We'll talk again Wednesday— same time, same place. Now, go walk your horse. Puppy. Whichever."

I went and I brushed Richter (he loved that, and I loved doing it), then brushed Abe, because he loves it just as much, and I love doing it for him, too, then had supper.

That night, Mi Kyong had a Slayer dream— and she saw something that all of us had missed, something scary as hell, but that made sense in light of other things we'd learned and heard.

She saw the really, _deeply_ scary thing about Warren Mears as he was at that time— and it's a good thing she did, or a lot of people might have died.


	22. How Many Enemies?

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 22: How Many Enemies?

_Interlude: A Place Not Real_

Mi Kyong knew she was dreaming, because she was walking through a wood she'd never seen before, a wood absolutely _teeming_ with pseudo dragons, each of whom greeted her and called her by name. Pseudo dragons in more colors than she'd ever known existed flew around in this forested place, calling to her, calling to Fog, who rode on her shoulder, telling them both not to worry— that scary things were coming, but they were only dreams.

_*By confronting these things now, in dreams,*_ said a familiar mental voice, though one she'd not heard in years, _*you make it possible to confront them with less fear when they must be faced in the waking world. Do you understand, Little Flower?_*

Mi Kyong looked up to a low branch a foot or so above her head, and some ten feet in front of her, saw the pale yellow pseudo dragon perched there, and held out her arms. The dragon dropped from the tree, glided over and landed in her arms, stretched up to rub her head against Fog's.

"Awai," Mi Kyong said softly. "I have not seen you in years, since I left Japan— is it because you and yours are telepathic that you are all in my dream?"

_*You have chosen wisely, little dragon,*_ Awai, the first pseudo dragon Mi Kyong had ever known personally, said to Fog. _*She thinks clearly even in a place where clear thinking is not the rule of the day._

_*But I have always loved Mi Kyong— so I may be biased._*

"I love you, too," Mi Kyong said. "Is Mr. Nakamura well, Awai?"

_*He is well,*_ Awai said. _*His new garden flourishes, even without his favorite helper._*

"It is good," Mi Kyong said. She went back over the things the pseudo dragons had told her, thought about what she knew about the gifts of the Slayer, and said, "Is this a Slayer dream, then? Am I to see something about things yet to come?"

_*Yes, and about things that have happened already as well,*_ Awai told her. _*I am not your guide here— I and my friends only came to make sure that you would not be frightened— and to tell you that you may trust he who guides you, though you will not know him. He has made it his job to protect Slayers, to help them, from his afterlife— and it says much about his character that he considers this a reward. You may come to recognize him, you may not— but you may trust him, Little Flower. On this you have the word of all my kind._*

"All right," Mi Kyong said. "Given all that has happened of late, I thank you— I might have been worried.

"So where is my guide?"

"I'm over this way, lass," called a man's voice from ahead and off to Mi Kyong's right. "Take the path to your right, an' you'll come to me."

Awai head-bumped Mi Kyong's chin, rubbed her cheek against Fog's, and said, _*I may go no further, Little Flower. Go well, learn well— and I will tell my Hideo that you remember him. He will be pleased._*

"Thank you, Awai," Mi Kyong said. "Goodbye."

The pale yellow pseudo dragon flapped off, going back up the trail— and Mi Kyong took the path to the right. Not far down it, she came on a man standing in a small clearing, visibly basking in the sunlight at it's middle. He didn't look terribly tall, but he seemed very muscular. His short, neatly combed hair burned red on his head, and his grin seemed both merry and a little devilish.

"There you are, young ladies," the man said, reaching out to stroke Fog's head. "An' well it is to have you here, for there is a bit of information that all have missed— an' that right bastard Warren plans to use it to kill a great many people, Mi Kyong, by puttin' a surprise on all of you after you think him long gone.

"Oh— and you can call me Michael, lass— it's a pleasure to meet you so."

Mi Kyong blinked, and thought for a moment— then smiled. "You're Rose's father, aren't you?"

"That I am," Michael said, grinning at her before turning and starting down a path through the woods. "You've read her book an' remembered well then, my dear."

"Not just that," Mi Kyong said. "Though that too, yes— but Michael, your grandson looks very much like a smaller you."

"Well, now that's a pleasure to hear, an' I thank you," Michael said. He smiled more widely and added, "That Rose would honor me so, giving young Michael my own name in full, and Ballard would allow it so readily, not insisting that his son bear his name— Powers, but I wish I could have met that man while I was alive! My Emerald Rose chose well, she did."

"I love him," Mi Kyong said. "He's very sweet, and so is Rose— I love all their family, biological and otherwise.

"And… you may have heard this before, but you may not— Michael the second has said that he wants to grow up to be a Watcher— but only if he can't be a fireman."

The ghost of Rose's father, who had been a fireman himself, died working that job to save a life, froze in his tracks. He looked back at Mi Kyong, tears starting to spill from his eyes, and said in a voice thick with the Irish accent that had been faint a moment before, "I dinna know that, lass— an' thank ye I must for tellin' me so. Ye've given me a gift, dear one, an' I do thank ye for it. To know that Ireland's Flower has honored my memory by tellin' her boy enough about me to have him wishin' to follow in m'footsteps… I'll owe you for the whole of my existence, Mi Kyong, an' no mistake."

"You have spent your afterlife watching over Slayers, and I am a Slayer," Mi Kyong said, smiling at him. "No debt is allowed— we cancel each other's obligations."

Michael laughed, shook his head, and said, "You argue almost as well as my one, you do. We'll settle this some other time, then— for I still feel I owe you.

"Now, my dear… what you're here to see is about to begin. I can tell you little about this first bit, only show you and hope you understand. One thing I can say— note well those things that seem not to belong. Note them _very_ well!"

"As you say," Mi Kyong said. "So… show me what I must see, Michael, please."

Michael nodded and stepped down the path, through an arch of trees, Mi Kyong close on his heels. Instantly, they were at an airport, outside on the tarmac near an airplane, a big passenger jet. Mi Kyong saw Warren, the new Warren, looking like that very handsome actor, drive up on a cart pulling a luggage train. Oddly, on the side of the luggage train, she could see four clocks, digital clocks with glowing numbers, each labeled with a plain block-printed label in English under it. One said "Tokyo, Japan," the next "Florence, Italy," the third "Denver, CO, USA," the last "Seattle, WA, USA." The times on the clocks were all in sync, if you remembered to add and subtract for time zones, and the one for Seattle had numbers that glowed red, not green like the others.

Mi Kyong watched as Warren loaded the luggage into the baggage hold, then slipped a small metal box from a pocket, aimed it at some sort of sensor in the frame of the doors to the baggage hold, held it carefully focused on the sensor while he carefully passed in one last piece of luggage, a small suitcase with metal sides, in the hold and gave it a single shove, sending it back to wedge itself in a corner of the baggage hold between two struts, far away from the sensor. Then he lowered the box, smirked, and took the driver's seat of the cart again to drive away.

"That was the bomb," Mi Kyong said. "The bomb meant to kill Nancy. I remember, she came from Seattle. The device he held— it must have jammed the chemical sensor that detects explosives?"

"Aye, that it did," Michael said. "But you've more to see, lass."

The scene shifted to another airport, another airplane, and Warren again approaching, this time driving a small pickup truck with Japanese characters proclaiming it to be from the aircraft maintenance department of Tokyo's major airport on its door. Warren got out, went to the side of the truck, and opened the toolbox mounted in its side. On the bottom of the lid, Mi Kyong again saw the line of digital clocks, each labeled as before, and this time, both the Tokyo and Seattle clocks glowed red. Mi Kyong looked at the clocks, noted something odd and frowned, but said nothing as Warren took a canister labeled "Hydraulic Fluid, Aviation Grade" from the truck and went aboard the plane.

Warren did something to a hydraulic system on the plane, bled off some fluid, checked with a gauge, bled off a little more, then replaced it, not from the canister he'd carried aboard, but from an aerosol can he produced from a pocket on his overalls. He grinned as he put the can back in his pocket and said softly, "Twenty thousand feet, and boom! I'm a genius."

He left, and the scene shifted again. Mi Kyong saw Warren, again in a maintenance worker's uniform, loading boxes of microwave-ready meals aboard a plane, putting them in the galley of the luxury aircraft. He waited until no one was around to see, then opened the freezer where the meals were stored again— and this time, the clocks showed up on the freezer door, the one labeled "Florence, Italy" now glowing red along with those for Tokyo and Seattle, and she knew that she was watching Warren sabotage the plane Andrew had been meant to take. Again, she noted the clocks, frowned, but said nothing.

Warren pulled a couple of the meals from the rack at the very top of the freezer out, took one out from the bottom of his carrying cart, pulled a small piece of bright red tape that had marked it off, and slid it in the top rack at the back of the freezer.

"Nuke this, you little shit!" Warren muttered as he packed to leave. "Talk about your spicy Italian food!"

That scene dissolved, and what faded back in was a mountaintop, and Mi Kyong watched as Warren _flew_ up to a small rock shelf on the mountain side, flying by means of a jet pack of some sort that he wore on his back. He landed, set down the large bundle of cloth that he carried, unwrapped the missile and launcher within. This time the clocks Mi Kyong knew to look for seemed to be on the side of the missile, and all four glowed red.

She watched Warren set up the rocket, and when he stood, he said, "There you go— that should make my partner happy. So long, Angel."

He jetted away, and the smoke from his exhaust obscured Mi Kyong's vision for a moment. When it cleared, the scene had changed again, and Mi Kyong found herself looking at the living room of Giles's mansion, filled with people and pseudo dragons, the humans discussing an attack on some sort of monsters' lair. The scene zoomed slowly to the mantle of the fireplace, and on the corner of the mantle, Mi Kyong saw a fly, an ordinary housefly. The eye of the vision moved closer to the fly— and Mi Kyong saw that it had no veins in its wings, and that something else wasn't right. Closer still— and she saw the eyes of the insect, and that they were not the faceted eyes she should have seen. Instead, they seemed to be camera lenses….

Things shifted, and Mi Kyong saw Elaine, her aunt-by-emotion, dancing among the stars. Tears poured down Elaine's cheeks as she danced, a new and different dance that had elements of Souls, Like Scattered Stars in it— and that Elaine's dance centered around two stars close together in the sky. Mi Kyong looked closely at the stars— and cried out in fear.

"No!" Mi Kyong cried. "No it cannot be, I will not allow it!"

"It could happen," Elaine said, still dancing. "It could happen, Mi Kyong. Everything rides on Jocelyn getting past two hurts, one she feels now… and one she will feel soon."

Mi Kyong stared in dread as Elaine continued dancing around the two stars at the center of her dance-space, one the gold-white of Colin's stellar-based powers and the other… the other the precise shade of violet of Jocelyn's eyes.

"Jocelyn must not reject the dark, Mi Kyong," Elaine said. "She _must not!_ Her hurt will make her… more stubborn than usual. Yet you can make her see, you can show her— because you have seen. You have seen the flight, and the flight is forever.

"When Jocelyn rejects the dark, you must make her see the flight."

The starlit black of space faded away, and Mi Kyong saw a young man, short and pudgy, dark haired and dark eyed, sitting in a workshop of some sort. Before him on a bench lay the Scythe, the Scythe that had given Mi Kyong power, and in doing so, given her a new life.

"It's supposed to be forever," the young man said, his voice slightly nasal. "I mean— the Guardians, they made it to be forever, to always empower and protect. Thing is, they couldn't plan for everything— nobody can. Warren, he's gonna try to break it. He may do it. If he breaks it, it's all over. So you make sure that Jocelyn accepts the dark, because if she doesn't, her pain will blind her. She can see the answer— if she's not too hurt. If she doesn't accept the dark, she won't see. She has to have the dark to see the light.

"Remember that. And remember that the answer sucks."

"I'll… I'll remember." Mi Kyong shook herself, said, "I will remember."

"Okay," the pudgy young man said. "Hey… do me a favor?"

"If I can, I will," Mi Kyong said. "You are helping us, I will help you if I can."

"Thanks," the young man said. "Just… tell Andrew it's okay. Tell him that… that Jonathan did an Anakin in the end. He'll understand. And you'll know when to say it."

"I will tell him." Mi Kyong looked around, saw the scene fading. "Is it over?"

"Almost," Michael said from behind her. "A little more left to see, Mi Kyong."

She turned around to see Michael standing next to an open door. Through the door, Mi Kyong could see a big TV, and a blond woman sitting in front of it, watching what Jocelyn and Vincent moving through the prison camp where Mi Kyong had been held, moving to rescue her, and eating popcorn. The woman looked over her shoulder as Mi Kyong stepped through the door, and Mi Kyong saw that the woman was gorgeous, fine-boned, with dark blue-gray eyes and a small, smiling mouth over a slightly pointed chin.

"Hello, sweetness," the woman said. "I'm all right, now. I used to be all broken, but my new friend made me all right. I see things, still, see things about the future, and while I may not see them as often as I used to, I see them much more clearly. And I can think about them, really think. Isn't that lovely?"

"I… yes, I suppose it is," Mi Kyong said. "Who are you? Do I know you?"

"We've never met," the woman said. She looked thoughtful. "That's probably a good thing, because you'd have to try to kill me. It's in your blood, you know. Now, at least. So we don't have to meet."

"You're a vampire?" Mi Kyong asked, not afraid, just trying to get all the information she could.

"Yes, I am," the woman said, sounding proud and happy. "I'm a vampire. I see things. And I'm not crazy now, I can think. Mostly, I think about killing the one who went back. Sometimes, I think about killing the one who broke my favorite toy, but mostly, I think about killing the one who went back.

"Isn't that lovely?"

Before Mi Kyong could even think of an answer, the door swung shut, and Michael said, "One last thing to see, Mi Kyong, then you can return. When you wake, you won't remember everything, I dinna think— but you'll remember the right things in the right order, when the time comes."

Mi Kyong turned to face Michael, saw a platoon of soldiers wearing START uniforms and equipment. Jocelyn's friend Graham Miller stood at attention at the front of the group, facing away from them— and Mi Kyong watched, something man-shaped, dark and hard to see began moving through the ranks of soldiers, hiding behind first one, then another. Finally, it reached the front ranks and hid behind the soldier who stood directly behind Graham. Even as Mi Kyong opened her mouth to call a warning, the dark thing leaped at Graham, bore him to the ground, and drove a hand, now gleaming and metallic instead of dark, through the back of the colonel's neck, separating his head from his body.

"That is a real danger," Michael said. "But like all the other dangers here that ye've seen and understood, this one can be averted."

"Is there something I have not seen, not understood?" MI Kyong asked sharply.

Michael looked uncomfortable, but said slowly, "More like something ye've heard and not had a way to understand, not yet, my girl. But… some things cannot be stopped. Or if they could, they shouldn't, for stopping some bad things only assures that worse things are more sure to happen.

"Some pains, some losses, cannot be escaped. Sometimes, lass, we can only stand an' watch while those we love are hurt, an' try to help them see past the pain, see the next thing that could bring joy— if they would simply let it.

"It's a hard thing— but no life is without pain, Mi Kyong.

"Now— I think it's time for ye t'wake. But there's a thing I'd ask of ye, as I asked it of Rose's Dancer long ago."

Michael stepped closer, put the first two fingers of his right hand under Mi Kyong's chin, tilted her head up gently, and kissed her forehead softly.

"Pass that to my Emerald Rose, if ye would," Michael said, smiling. "Just as I gave to you, so that she knows where it came from— and tell her that I'm forever grateful that she's told her son about his grandfather."

"I will," Mi Kyong said. "I promise."

"Thank you, lass. Do as you can with what you've been given."

_Jocelyn:_

I woke up to Mi Kyong standing in my open bedroom door, looking like she wanted to knock, but didn't want to wake us.

"Morning, Mi Kyong," I said, waving at her as Colin called his own good morning from behind me.

"Good morning," Mi Kyong said. She looked sort of out of it for a moment, then her shook her head and said, "I had a Slayer dream. And…. Yes. The clocks. They mean everything."

"Huh?" Colin said. "What clocks, Mi Kyong? What are you—"

"I had a dream," Mi Kyong repeated. "A Slayer dream. I must… I need to tell everyone. I know that the clocks were the key, that much is obvious, but I do not understand what they meant."

"Oh, boy," I said, sitting up. "Is it super urgent? You want us to go down with you now? Or can we shower first?"

"Showering will be fine," Mi Kyong said. She blushed a little as I climbed out of bed and she got an eyeful of a nude Colin. "But I think I should tell everyone as soon as I can after. It is important, I know it— I just… don't know why."

Mi Kyong sat on my balcony while Colin and I showered together quickly (dammit!), then went down to the kitchen with us, joined the rest of the family in heading for Giles's mansion for breakfast. As soon as we were there, all in the kitchen, Dad and Xander working together to make breakfast, Mi Kyong looked around and asked, "Where is Aunt Rose?"

"She'll be along in a minute," Uncle Ballard said. "She did some sword forms before breakfast, went to shower. Is everything all right?"

"I think that it will be," Mi Kyong said. "I… had a Slayer dream, and I have something to say to Aunt Rose before I tell everyone about it."

"Say what to me?" Aunt Rose said, strolling into the kitchen and kissing Aunt Dawn, who was closest. "What did I miss?"

"I had a Slayer dream last night, Aunt Rose," Mi Kyong said, moving to stand before her. "And at the end, I was given a message for you."

With that, Mi Kyong, actually shorter than Aunt Rose (and not many can say that) moved to kneel on the chair Aunt Rose had been about to sit on and went up on her knees so that she was actually a little taller than Rose. Then she put the first two fingers of her right hand under Aunt Rose's chin, tilted her face up a little, and kissed her on the forehead, very gently.

Aunt Rose's face lit up even as her eyes filled with happy tears, and she said, "Daddy? He's still guiding Slayers?"

"He is," Mi Kyong said, smiling. "He sent you that, and asked that I tell you that he is grateful always that you have told your son of his grandfather.

"Also… Uncle Ballard, that you let Aunt Rose give your son her father's name in full, this pleases him, and he wishes that he could have met you."

"Wow," Uncle Ballard said, looking tickled. "That's— wow. Thanks."

"Thanks tons, Mi Kyong," Aunt Rose said, and kissed her cheek. "Now— can the rest wait until after breakfast?" She looked significantly at the younger kids, and Mi Kyong got it— no need to disturb them if it could be avoided.

"Yes, it can wait that long," Mi Kyong said. "Right after breakfast, though, I should tell you… the bit I remember. I know that there was more, but…."

"You'll remember the rest when you need to," Aunt Elaine said. "Trust me, I know."

"All right," Mi Kyong said, and sat down to eat.

After breakfast, all of us full-on Slayers (they still counted me, despite my freakiness, and I felt really grateful for that) and all the Watchers and Guardians went to the library, and Mi Kyong told us what she remembered.

"I saw Warren placing the bombs aboard the planes that Nancy and Andrew were meant to take to New York," Mi Kyong said. "The one aboard Nancy's plane was in a suitcase, the one aboard Andrew's in a… a meal meant for the microwave, which I think was to trigger it."

"Yes, that's correct," Giles said, looking impressed. He'd never told us what sort of devices had been found aboard the various planes. "I don't suppose that you saw what he put aboard the plane that Brian was meant to be on? The airline can't find a thing, and they are going rather insane with trying."

"I… yes," Mi Kyong said, her eyes going distant as she remembered. "He did something with the hydraulic fluid for the flaps and other controls. He said… he said, 'Twenty thousand feet and boom.' Then the scene switched."

"All right," Giles said. "Do hold on a moment, please, dear— I think I should call the airline and tell them before they decide that it was a false alarm and put that plane back into service."

Giles made the call quickly, spoke in rapid-fire Japanese for a minute or two, then hung up and said, "Please, continue, Mi Kyong."

She told of seeing Warren arrive by jetpack on the ledge where he'd set the rocket to destroy Angel and Faith's plane, and of how Warren had said that the act should make his partner happy.

"That explains the attack on them, then," Xander said. He gave me a grin and said, "See, I told you it was just something we didn't know, not you missing something."

"All right, Mi Kyong," Giles said. "This is useful information, certainly— but by your face, I can see that there is more."

"Yes, Giles," Mi Kyong said. "As I watched every scene, I saw clocks in strange places— on the luggage cart Warren drove, on the tool box of the truck he drove, on the freezer for the meals aboard the plane, and on the side of the missile he set to kill Angel and Faith. Four clocks, one set to each time zone he worked in.

"But… Giles, the clocks all read within a couple of minutes of each other— even overlapped some. It… it's as though he can hop through time to be in more than one place at a time."

"Dear lord, I hope that isn't the case!" Giles said. "I think you'd better describe the whole thing over again, Mi Kyong, from start to finish, and we will not interrupt. Recall the times on the clocks as best you can, please."

Mi Kyong went over it again, and we listened. I strained for an answer other than that Warren could move through time, but couldn't find anything. Fortunately, somebody else saw the truth. (Not like it was a lot better, but if we'd prepared for the wrong thing, it could have been disastrous.)

We talked it over for a minute, trying to figure out who to ask if time travel could be actually possible, when Uncle Ballard got a sort of "eureka!" look on his face. I saw it, and so did Aunt Sh'rin, but the others missed it.

Uncle Ballard stood up, still wearing his "I've got something" expression, and walked away from the big conference table and over to one of the smaller ones that had several computers on it, there for students who didn't have one of their own to use. He ran his hands across them for a moment, going from drive tower to drive tower, then reaching behind and tracing the cables that networked them together.

"Oh, shit," he said, straightening and moving back to the conference table. "Folks, I think we're barking up the wrong tree. Not that I like the looks of the right tree any better, but… well, okay, yes I do. Time traveling evil genius robots are maybe actually worse than what I think we're dealing with, here."

"What have you got, Ballard?" Daddy asked.

"We're forgetting the key point, here," Uncle Ballard said. "Warren is not human. He's a robot."

"Yes, but what's that got to do with him being in several places at once?" Giles asked.

"Everything," Uncle Ballard said. "Giles, what exactly is there to prevent him from making more bodies for himself— then duplicating the program that is _him_ into those bodies?"

We all went absolutely silent as the implications of Uncle Ballard's question sank into us.

More than one Warren. How many? Just the four Mi Kyong had seen? A dozen? Dozens?

Hundreds?

Thousands!?

"Oh, _shit,"_ Willow said.

"Yes," Giles said. He looked shaken by the realization. "Yes, I do believe that sums things up quite nicely."

For a long moment, no one said anything. Then Kelly pulled herself together and said, "All right— Mi Kyong, is there anything else you remember right now?"

"One other thing," Mi Kyong said. "I remember a woman, a vampire— blond, young, pretty, very pretty— watching TV, a TV showing Jocelyn and Vincent on their way to rescue me. She spoke to me, said… said she saw things, still, but… not as often as she used to see them. But now she could make sense of them, she couldn't before, but her new friend had… had fixed her. She used to be broken, but he'd fixed her.

"She said… she could think now, and mostly she thought about killing. Killing… 'the one who went back,' and… and the one who broke her favorite toy."

"Oh, hell," Buffy said. "Not my year, I guess."

"Buffy?" Giles said. "What have you deduced?"

"Just a minute, Giles," Buffy said. She leaned over and whispered in Aunt Dawn's ear, and Aunt Dawn winced, then said, "Yeah, I can do that. Give me a couple."

She opened up her laptop computer, booted it and started doing something. While she worked, Buffy said, "Was there anything else that you remember now, Mi Kyong?"

Mi Kyong looked thoughtful, then frustrated. "No. No, I know there was more— but I can't remember it, not right now."

"Don't stress it," Buffy said. "You'll remember when you need to— it happens like that, usually."

"Done," Aunt Dawn said. She spun her laptop around towards us, so Mi Kyong could see it, and said, "Is this the vampire woman you saw, Mi Kyong?"

"Yes, that's her," Mi Kyong said, sounding perfectly sure. "Her hair was a little… brighter than that, but that's her."

"Oh, balls," Xander said.

I couldn't argue. Aunt Dawn had found a picture of Drusilla, a long-time pain in the Scooby Gang's collective ass, and used a photo-manipulation program to give her blond hair.

"Warren went and made Drusilla sane," Buffy said. "I hate to admit it, but the idea of a sane Drusilla is actually worse than the idea of talking-to-the-junebugs-listening-to-flowers Dru.

"Also explains Warren's intel. Dru's visions were always powerful. Get rid of the wacko-filter, and she'd be able to help him a lot."

"Bloody hell," Giles sighed. "You're quite right, Buffy— this is not our year."

At that moment, the newbies, who'd been out in the back yard working out with Lydia, screamed, almost with one voice— and all hell broke loose.


	23. …But Enemies Accumulate

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 23: …But Enemies Accumulate

Right after we figured out that Warren probably had a lot of robotic bodies, and that he'd cured the insanity of Drusilla, a pain in the ass vampire with occasional prophetic visions, the newbies, training under Lydia outside, all pretty much screamed at once.

I was the second one out the door of the study, right on Buffy's heels, though Aunt Rose passed me as we went to the back door of Scooby Mansion, and Aunt Elaine was right on my heels. Mom and Gwen were right on her heels, and then the not-Slayer types came behind them, Uncle Ballard in front, moving in that ground-eating lope of his.

We got outside, saw most of the girls gathered in a circle, Lydia among them. Through the forest of bodies, we could see a man holding a girl around the neck— and a single girl on the ground, dead or dying, as there was a lot of blood around her.

"MOVE!" Buffy yelled, and the circle opened for her. She went straight in— and froze, as did all of us behind her, even as our pseudo dragons all started flying in a slow circle above the circle of girls, watching and waiting for a chance to do something useful.

Warren, in his Jared-Leto-looking body, stood in the center of the circle, his arm around Joyce's neck, a gun pressed to her temple.

"Hey, Buffy," Warren said. "Long time no see. How've you been?"

"Let her go, Warren," Buffy said.

Those of us with her started fanning out around him, going where Buffy's fingers, moving subtly, indicated we should go. I went to Warren's right, my left— but before I did, Mom slipped a couple of round things in the back pockets of my denim shorts, and I knew from size, shape and weight that she'd slipped me a pair of crazy-discs, some of my favorite weapons.

"Let her go?" Warren said, disbelief dripping from his voice. "What, so you can kill me? No, no— not gonna work like that, Buffy."

"I'm going to kill you anyway," Buffy said, even as Aunt Sh'rin and Aunt Dawn started working on the wounded Slayer, an Indian girl named Kalyani. They were within twenty feet of Warren, but they just… completely ignored him. Buffy glanced at them, looked up at Warren and said, "I'd kill you for threatening my daughter, Warren. Add in that you killed my son and hurt one of my Slayers? I almost wish I was the type to torture you. And, okay, how do you torture a robot?"

"Well, you could make me stand around and listen to you whine some more, that's torturous, believe me," Warren said. Almost as an afterthought, he added, "Bitch."

"So what is it that you think is going to happen next, Warren?" Buffy asked.

"Pretty simple, really," Warren said. "You're all going to let me out of here, and I'm going to take your daughter away with me. I'll examine her, get certain information that I need from her, and then I'll let her go.

"So— let's get started."

"Not happening," Buffy said. "Sorry."

"So?" Warren pushed the gun more tightly against Joyce's temple and said, "I'll kill her now, you and your little band of losers can try to kill me before I escape— and I'll kill more of you.

"Now let me walk out of here, you stupid bitch!"

"I can't do that," Buffy said. "Sorry, but you've got too much to answer for."

"I will kill your only remaining child right in front of you, you useless slut!" Warren nearly screamed. "LET ME LEAVE!"

_*It's done, Buffy, ladies,*_ Willow said in all our heads— and I knew that, while Buffy had kept Warren distracted, Wil had done something to mess him up. _*That gun he's holding is pretty much a not-real-effective club, as of now._*

"Screw you," Buffy said, her voice calm and clear. "Joyce? Come here, please."

Joyce smiled— Wil must have included her in that telepathic sending— caught the arm Warren had around her neck, pushed it away (straining a little, but not too much), grinned almost _viciously_ as his gun made clicking noises while he tried repeatedly to fire it, and ducked under his arm. She walked casually over to Buffy, who hugged her before passing her back to Xander.

"Willow!" Warren said in realization. "God-damned dyke! You stupid loser bitch! You did this!"

"Uh-huh," Willow agreed brightly, stepping up beside Buffy as Sh'rin and Dawn gently carried a now-stabilized Kalyani out of the circle. "You remember my girlfriend, Tara? You don't remember killing her, I know that— but you do remember her, right?

"Well… I'm not going to do anything to you for killing her— past making it possible for the other people you've hurt to give you a big ol' helping of hurt themselves.

"I think Tara would approve of that."

"DAMN YOU!" Warren screamed. He leapt at Buffy— and things got _seriously_ crazy.

Warren was fast— Buffy was a touch faster, and I was, too. Most of us full-on Slayers were.

I held off until Buffy had hit him once, and so did Mom. One hit from Buffy (okay, one kick, a perfect replacement sidekick) sent Warren flying backwards to land on his ass in the middle of the circle.

"Back up, girls," Xander called. "Give Buffy room to work without worrying about you."

The newbies all backed up a few paces each, and Lydia came over to stand with Willow, hold her hand and say softly, "I think you're right, from what you've told me about Tara, Willow— she'd think this was a great payback. So do I."

Warren started to climb to his feet— and Mom and I simultaneously moved.

My hands went to my hip pockets, came out with the two crazy-discs Mom had given me even as she pulled out the two she'd kept for herself. I crossed my arms on my chest, held the discs at my shoulders for a beat as I felt for the flight path and the moment— then my arms flew out, I released when they made a perfect one-eighty, seemingly threw them at Colin and Berachah (our Israeli Slayer).

Mom's discs, seemingly thrown at Giles and a Russian girl named Svetlana, flashed out at the same moment.

Crazy-discs are so called because they don't fly straight. Only me, Mom and maybe another three dozen Slayers on the planet could use them right, feel where they'd go if you threw them just so— they curve naturally in flight, and you can sharpen or flatten the curve by wrist action, but you have to have a _feel_ for throwing things…. I have that feel, and I got it from Mom.

Mom and I had worked together before, so I didn't need to plan my strikes, I knew where hers would go, and vice versa.

My two discs thunked into the backs of Warren's knees, sank deep, and knocked him to the ground— right after Mom's two bit into his back, right over the area where a person would have shoulder blades. All four of our discs flew great, wide arcs, more than a half circle— and Warren didn't understand what was happening until it was way too late to dodge.

He pushed himself up after falling— but he moved more slowly. We hadn't crippled him like we would have a human, but we'd slowed him down. That should be enough.

"Oh, you BITCHES!" Warren screamed. "Buffy first, then you two, then the rest!"

"You know, for someone who hates whining, you sure do a lot of it," Buffy said. "Come on and kill me if you can, you child-murdering bag of _shit!"_

Warren charged at her, a lumbering run like a slow but powerful football player, and Buffy set herself for his charge. When he reached her, she fired off a round kick-back-round-kick combination that sent him staggering back, but he didn't fall— quite.

I wanted a shot at him myself, but Buffy deserved this, it was her son that he'd killed, her daughter he'd threatened. She and Xander had the most right to kill him. Still… no harm in being prepared, right?

" 'Scuse me," I said to a nearby newbie. "Toss me your weapon, please?"

Lydia had been working with the girls on choosing edged weapons that suited them, and the girl in question— Sherry Plimpton, the Mormon girl with homophobia issues (though she seemed to be trying to get past that, points to her)— had a gladius, a Roman-style short sword, in her hand.

She looked down at the weapon blankly for a moment, shook herself, nodded, and tossed me the sword. She did it right, too— one and a half rotations, and the hilt slapped into my hand.

"Thanks," I said, and turned back to the fight.

Buffy had control, still, but Warren didn't seem inclined to quit, or to fall over dead— or whatever the equivalent of dead is for a robot. In fact, the crazy-discs in his knees and shoulders had worked themselves out of his body, fallen to the ground— and he was starting to move faster, better.

Buffy didn't mind. She kept fighting, working, doing visible damage to the damned robotic son-of-a-bitch, tearing his synthetic skin, bending the framework underneath it, where that frame was thinner and weaker. He seemed to be able to adapt to the damage done, though— he'd slow down, then get faster again after ten or fifteen seconds, like he was, I don't know, re-routing systems or something.

Then I saw something bad about to happen, and I acted on instinct— and got it right, for once.

Buffy darted in, fired off seven or eight vicious punches to Warren's stomach, chest and throat. Warren took the blows— and lashed out with his foot, caught Buffy a kick square in the stomach that actually lifted her off of the ground a little. She came back down doubled over, arms across her gut, and Warren's right hand flashed up beside his head. I saw blades shoot out of the tips of his fingers, three-inch long silvery blades that I knew would do horrible damage to Buffy, if they didn't kill her—

No thought, no time for thought. My right hand flashed out, coming up from my side in a long, smooth arc that was just right, just what it needed to be— and the gladius punched through Warren's hand and into his head, pinning the hand and the blades that tipped it to his head.

He turned to look at me, purest hate somehow shining from his artificial eyes. The sword buried in his head didn't seem to bother him much, and I decided that his robotic brain must not be in his head.

"You," Warren said in a distinctly pissy voice, "are on my last damned nerve, little girl. You're gonna die slow— just as soon as I'm done with Buffy.

"Wanna bet?" Buffy asked.

Warren turned back to face her— and Buffy shoved the bastard sword she'd taken from a newbie after recovering her breath into his torso right beneath the sternum.

Some sort of electrical discharge flung Buffy back away from Warren, but she rolled out of it (a little awkwardly as her muscles spasmed from the shock, but she rolled out of it), and climbed slowly to her feet.

Warren's free hand clutched at the sword as he jittered and spasmed in place, tried to pull it out— but failed. He sank to his knees, looking back and forth from me to Buffy, said in a slow, dragging voice, "Biiiiitchezzzzzz!" and fell face first on the ground.

Buffy blew her hair out of her face and turned to hug Xander and Joyce, even as Mom and Dad came over to hug me.

"You did good, Jocelyn!" Mom said, kissing my cheek. "Sweetie, you did it just right— that thing with the discs? We done that before, sure, but girl, the thing with stopping him from slashing Buffy? Damn fine throw, damn good call."

"As usual, your mother is dead on target," Dad said. "Sweetheart, that was a damn good set of choices you just made, and I'm proud of you."

"Thanks," I said, blushing a little, but smiling a _lot_. "Thanks, Mom, thanks, Dad."

"Excuse me, can I get in here a second?" Buffy said, and Mom and Dad stepped back. Buffy stood in front of me, put her fists on her hips, gave a me a stern look and said, just loud enough for me, Mom and Dad to hear, "Not meant to be a Slayer my _ass!_

"You just saved my life, or at least saved me a _lot_ of pain, and you did it without taking away the satisfaction I got by killing that bastard, Jocelyn Kelly Penobscot!

"You, young lady, kick ass."

She hugged me, and I felt almost good about things. Still some doubt, some worry— but good anyway.

"All right, everyone," Giles called as Xander and Joyce came over to hug me themselves, "I think we shall call an end to classes for the day— you can return to your rooms, or take advantage of one of the recreation areas.

"Sh'rin, Dawn, will Kalyani need a hospital?"

"No, she is stable, and with the healing ability of Slayers, she will be fine here," Sh'rin said. "She will need watching for a time, but—"

"I'll do it!" Joyce said. She stepped forward and said, "Giles, Mom, Dad— everybody. Kalyani got hurt because she tried to get between me and Warren. She recognized him, and she got between me and him, and tried to stop him. He caught her sword and took it away, stabbed her with it— and she still kept trying to grab him!"

"God, I love her already," Buffy said. "Joyce, you can sit with her, but you make sure to call for Dawn or Sh'rin if Kalyani wakes up or her condition changes."

"No one touch the… remains, please," Giles said. "I'm going to have Willow contain the robot in a stasis field until we can get Brian Keller here to look at it."

"Be just a couple of minutes, Giles," Willow called. "I need an actual spell for this one, Lydia went to get me a book— not real sure about suspending time around a robot, so I want a book."

People started drifting away, Joyce going after Sh'rin, Dawn, and the two newbies carrying a stretcher with Kalyani on it, Xander and Buffy going to speak to Giles, Mom and Dad going off to reassure my brothers and sisters. Mi Kyong and Colin, who'd been standing off to one side, started towards me, Royal started flapping in my direction— and everything went wrong, so wrong that I can't find the words.

I turned to wave at Colin and Mi Kyong, and all of the sudden Royal SCREAMED in my head.

*_JOCELYN!_*

I spun, saw my oldest, best friend diving at me, saw a flicker of motion on the ground near me, looked to see Warren rolling to his side, his hand coming _out of his stomach,_ a gun in it, moving so fast I couldn't even hope to out-speed him—

The gun went off as Royal hit my shoulder, trying to knock me aside. There was a peculiar triple impact as Royal slammed into me, got slammed into me harder a split second later, and something punched through him and into me. I felt monstrous pain in my chest, a worse pain in my mind, and the worst pain of all in my heart— as the light in my head that was _Royal,_ a light I couldn't ever remember _not being there_… went out.

"MONSTER!" I screamed. I didn't look at the body of my best friend, couldn't look— and didn't have to. The absence of him in my head, the sensation of something vital and necessary being torn out of my head, torn away and leaving a gaping wound that would bleed until I died, that told me everything I needed to know; Royal was dead, dead at Warren's hands.

I blurred as I moved towards him, Aunt Rose told me later. Bullet in my chest and all, I was so far gone into blind rage and hurt that I moved faster than I ever have in my life.

I hit Warren with both feet, came down on him from maybe eight feet up, out of the biggest aerial I'd ever done. He shot me again, in the gut. I didn't notice other than that it almost knocked me off of him. I jerked the longsword out of his gut, drove it into his chest, got an electric shock, shook it off, took still another bullet in the chest, lunged back to straddle his legs, drove the sword into his gut, just below the navel— and Warren went still, froze in mid motion.

I started hitting him, hitting his face over and over. My knuckles broke on the metal of his face, and I kept on hitting him, pounding him and screaming "MURDERER!" over and over.

Hands tried to pull me off, and I shook them off, swung blindly at the owners of those hands, kept hitting Warren's disintegrating face and screaming.

Then something grabbed me that I couldn't hit, wrapped me up in what felt like cool, hard plastic, lifted me off of Warren, and I knew that Willow had grabbed me telekinetically. Even as I drifted away from Warren's body, still screaming and trying to fight, I saw Colin's hands flare gold-white— and Warren's body melted, then burned.

I heard Willow, voice ragged and weepy, say _"Somnus!"_— and the world went dark.

_Interlude:_

Willow set Jocelyn, bleeding and badly wounded, down at her mother and father's sides, sent a telepathic message to Dawn and Sh'rin, who were rushing that way, that Jocelyn was in a magical sleep and they could treat her without fear of waking her, and went to see if there was any chance of helping Royal. Given Jocelyn's madness, Willow didn't think so— but she had to check.

One look told her that Royal could not be helped. The bullet had punched clear through him, gone in one side below and behind a wing, come out the other below and in front of the wing. It had torn a huge exit wound, and Willow sobbed to see it, even as her own pseudo dragon, a pale orange boy named Dingo, dropped to her shoulder and sent _*Turn away, Willow. Turn away. Don't see him so._*

"No," Willow said, getting a grip on herself. "No. Not yet. I have to… for Jocelyn, I have to… she can't see him like this. And we can't bury him, not 'til she can be there."

Willow let Dingo calm her, help her find the words of the spell she needed, one that restored a body to its last healthy appearance, and cast it— then cast a second spell that froze Royal's body in time, so that he would not decay before Jocelyn could be at his burial.

She looked around for something to cover him with and saw Whitey coming over, carrying a blanket that he'd had someone get from one house or the other. She stepped back and he knelt beside Royal's body, saw the lack of visible damage, looked up at Willow and said, "Thank you, Willow. And thank you for shutting Jocelyn down before she hurt herself worse."

"You're welcome," Willow said, her voice ragged. "Is she going to be okay?"

"Dawn and Sh'rin are going to be able to take care of her here," Whitey said in a low voice as he stood, cradling Royal's blanket-wrapped body. He looked down at the bundle, sighed and said in a shaky voice, "I don't know about 'okay,' not after… this."

"I wish… I wish it had been something magical, dammit," Willow said. "Something I could bring him back from!"

"So do I," Whitey said. "I need to go to Jocelyn, Willow. Thank you again."

He went to where Dawn and Sh'rin worked over his daughter, and Willow went to stand next to them and wait until Jocelyn could be moved, Lydia next to her, holding her. When Dawn and Sh'rin had done all they could, Willow lifted Jocelyn telekinetically, floated her into the house slowly and steadily, put her in the guest bedroom across from her parents' room on the first floor, then went home with Lydia to have a long cry.

Jocelyn had lost a lot of blood, and done herself a great deal of damage by refusing to lay down and not aggravate her wounds in her need to punish Warren. Sh'rin and Dawn stood watch over her in alternating shifts for forty-eight hours, always with someone else with them— Whitey, Chantelle, Colin or Mi Kyong. The girl did not wake up in all that time, though Willow checked telepathically and assured them that she hadn't slipped into a coma or anything— her body had simply taken more punishment than it could be expected to heal from easily, and stayed shut down into something beyond 'sleep mode' while it was making repairs.

Everyone stayed alert and somber that whole time— and very shortly after the incident, before he even allowed himself to be sure that his goddaughter would be well, Giles took care of a piece of very urgent business. Normally, he'd have asked Whitey, Willow or Dawn to help him with what he had to do, but Willow needed time to recover from events, Whitey could only be half-sane at best, with his daughter so badly hurt in so many ways, and Dawn was needed to help care for the girl. He called for Rose, the next-most computer proficient person in the house, and she came, cuddling her pseudo dragon, Glitter, who was weeping inconsolably for the death of one of her first hatchlings. Cursing himself for a fool, Giles apologized and asked her to send him Ballard, whose pseudo dragon had not been related to Royal, so would not be in so much pain.

Ballard came in and Giles said, "Can you make this computer ready for an emergency message to all posts, Ballard?"

"Sure, Giles," Ballard said, a small smile crossing his face. "Someday, we'll get you into the twenty-first century, you know."

"Only if you give me a computerized casket," Giles said. He watched as Ballard opened a program, did something, attached a headset with a microphone to the computer, did something else, then handed Giles the headset.

"Put this on and speak normally," Ballard said. "Don't shout, you'll get distorted."

Giles put the headset on and started to speak.

"Attention all Team Slayer Stations and START outposts," he said in a clear, concise voice. "This is Rupert Giles, head of the Watchers' Council, with an emergency broadcast.

"Council Headquarters in Normal has just been attacked by the robotic Warren Mears. While no humans died, two were severely injured and… one pseudo dragon was killed.

"The body of Warren Mears— _a_ body of Warren Mears— has been destroyed. However, we have reason to believe that, since he is no longer governed by human limitations, this is in no way the end of this particular threat. Thanks to a Slayer in the household here having a visionary dream, we have deduced that Warren has duplicated his consciousness into more than one robotic body. We do not know the number of duplicates.

"It is my belief that Warren hopes that we will report him ended completely, allowing him to attack completely by surprise and do monstrous damage to Team Slayer and its members.

"That is not going to happen. He will take no more from us, not so easily.

"All stations, all personnel, all Slayers, Watchers, Guardians and staff, as well as all START personnel, are to go immediately to START condition Joshua Red; the highest of alerts, while maintaining an appearance of relaxation. Should Warren Mears attack, you are to destroy him with ranged weapons if at all possible, and to destroy the body as completely as possible via magic or heavy weaponry. Do not assume the body inert before it is destroyed and melted; such an assumption has already cost us grievous injury of a Slayer— and the death of her pseudo dragon friend.

"Report any hostile actions that are definitely those of Warren Mears to me personally by telephone, regardless of the hour.

"That is all. Be careful, all of you."

Giles took off the headset, Ballard shut down the broadcast program, and the two men looked at each other for a long moment.

"This is going to screw Jocelyn up even more, Giles," Ballard said slowly, almost as though he spoke against his will. "She's going to be so hurt, so tangled up in her pain— the things already wrong with her are going to get worse."

"I fear you are right," Gils said, taking his glasses off and tossing them on the desk as he rubbed his eyes. "Bloody _hell_ what a mess."

"Yeah," Ballard agreed. "Damn that miserable bastard to hell! First Alex, then he takes a shot at Joyce, then at Buffy— then he does this to Jocelyn.

"He needs to die a really nasty death."

"I could not agree more," Giles said. "Ballard… our families need us. I am going to go and have a sit down with Kelly and Riley— after I speak to Vincent about getting additional security on the house for a time."

Before Giles got out of the study, the doorbell rang, and he went to answer it with Ballard trailing after him, unwilling to let him go alone right now. Giles checked out the peephole, relaxed visibly, and opened the door. On the doorstep stood a man in START Battle Dress Uniform, and in the drive behind him stood a dozen men, and more appearing out of a glowing doorway in the air behind the group.

"Good morning, sir," the young man said. "I'm Captain Lee. On hearing your broadcast, Colonel Miller had one of our wizards open a gateway here, and instructed me and my command to guard you until you say otherwise. The Colonel said to tell you that he's coming himself, as soon as he can get out of the field— should be here tomorrow or the next day, he's working on tracking down a werewolf that went and made itself head of a pack of about fifteen by biting about fifteen people."

"Thank you, Captain Lee," Giles said. "I must confess, I feel better for your presence. We have two completely unoccupied dorms at the moment— you and your men will use them. Please don't argue, I won't have you sleeping in tents while you're here to protect us."

"Thank you, sir," Lee said. "We'll try to be unobtrusive, but you should tell your people we're here."

Giles told everyone about the START soldiers, then did as he'd intended, and went to spend some time with his wife and son.

Half an hour later, the phone rang with the first report of an attack by Warren Mears on a Team Slayer headquarters, with the new head of the New York branch, Mike Havel, reporting an assault by a Warren Mears robot.

"We blew him to hell and gone, Giles," Mike said. "Four of my Slayers hit him repeatedly with crossbows and spears, and when he finally went down, I sprayed him down with homemade napalm and lit him up. Body's a fused mess, he won't be pulling a monster-movie-comeback on us."

"Thank you, Mike," Giles said. "Don't let your guard down yet, and do be careful."

"Will do," Havel said, and hung up.

Over the next three hours, sixteen more stations reported assaults by Warren Mears robots. Four more of them managed to destroy the attacker, but the remaining twelve escaped by breaking off and fleeing as soon as they realized that they had no element of surprise. Another seventeen reported sightings of Mears, though he fled before attacking in each of those cases.

_Nearly thirty of him,_ Giles thought, horrified and angered. _Dear lord, how are we to stop him? How are we to ever be sure that there is not one more Warren out there, building more?_

He found no answer.

Jocelyn's family took turns watching over her with Dawn or Sh'rin, one of whom was always there.

Kalyani Ravinuthala woke up that evening, found Joyce Harris sitting by her bed, and got very thoroughly thanked by both the girl and her parents. By Wednesday afternoon, some thirty hours after she'd been wounded, she could get around on her own, if she moved slowly and carefully.

Jocelyn slept, slept too deeply to dream. Her body healed, aided by the knowledge and care of Dawn and Sh'rin. She had come as close to dying as she could without needing a hospital, and if not for certain magics that Sh'rin had brought out of her time and the incredible healing power of Slayers, she would have needed cosmetic surgery to remove the scars of her encounter with Warren Mears.

She slept, she healed. Her family watched over her, worried, and wondered if there was anything they could do for her when she woke.

Thursday afternoon, just after lunch, Jocelyn did wake up, sat up with a little cry as though she'd woken from a nightmare. Sh'rin and Chantellle were in the room with her at the time, and moved to her side immediately. Sh'rin made her lie back while she examined the girl, and Chantelle took her daughter's hands in hers and held them, trying to offer comfort without words.

Jocelyn lay there silently, not speaking, not looking at Sh'rin or her mother. When Sh'rin had finished her examination, decided that Jocelyn would heal, she asked "How do you feel, Jocelyn?"

For a long moment, Jocelyn did not answer. Finally, she said in a voice that came out flat and wooden, "Dead."

She then rolled over, buried her face in the pillow, and started crying, wailing so loud that it was almost as though she screamed.

She didn't stop for most of an hour, and only stopped then because she fell into a sleep that seemed more like unconsciousness.


	24. In Pain, We Are Lost

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 24: In Pain, We Are Lost

I woke up the second time after losing Royal still wanting to scream and cry— but I didn't. Aunt Dawn was asleep in a chair next to the bed, Daddy was asleep in a chair by the door, and something warm was on the bed with me— warm and furry.

Richter lay on the bed, pressed against my side. He must have sensed me waking up, because he lifted his head on put it on my stomach. Automatically, without thinking, I stroked his head— and it was different enough not to hurt. Warm fur, not cool scales, that made it… possible to pet him and not hurt. His tail started swishing gently, thumping lightly against my calf on the backswing, and he just… let me pet him and scratch his ears.

For a while, that was okay. But my traitor body made it necessary to move, to find a bathroom— and that woke Daddy and Aunt Dawn up.

"Jocelyn, you shouldn't be up yet," Aunt Dawn said, sitting up as I swung my legs off the bed.

"It's either get up or wet the bed," I said. I went to the bathroom, ignored her, ignored Daddy, and did what _really_ needed doing. I must have been out a long time.

I came out to find Daddy and Aunt Dawn standing and watching the bathroom door like a pair of falcons ready to stoop. As soon as I was out, Daddy laid a hand on my shoulder… and just like that, I was gone again, crying like a baby, clinging to him and crying like the world had broken— because it had.

Look, even if you've got a pseudo dragon of your own, even if you've lost a pseudo dragon… I don't know if you can understand what it felt like to lose Royal. I don't think you can.

Royal had bonded with me while I was a _baby._ I had _no memory at all_ of a time when he was not there, in my mind, a part of me as much as my own thoughts, loving me, caring for me, helping me, and never, ever asking anything but that I love him back. As far as Giles knows, has been able to find out, no pseudo dragon has ever bonded with a child younger than four or so, before or since.

Nobody knows how long pseudo dragons live, not here. None have ever died a natural death, not yet, and some of those who came here almost fifteen years ago were five and six years old, then. They show no signs of aging, of getting infirm, none of them. Glitter says on their own world, those not bonded to a member of another sentient species tended to live around twelve or fourteen years. Those who bonded with someone, human, elf, half-elf, Halfling, dwarf, centaur, whatever— they tended to live as long as their bond-partners, die shortly after their partners did.

Oh, sure, there were cases of the dragon being killed before, or the bond-partner. But natural causes tended to take them within hours of each other.

I didn't go to sleep again, not this time. Instead, Daddy sat me down on the bed, held me, and had Aunt Dawn call Mom in. They held me while I cried, and Richter flopped across all three of our laps.

When I finally calmed down some, I managed a question. "Have you… have you b-b-buried him yet?"

"No, honey," Daddy said. "Willow… she did for Royal what she did for Chief and Alex, then she stopped time around him so that you could be there when we bury him."

"How long…?"

"It's Thursday night, sugar," Mom said. "Long about eight o'clock."

"Two days!?" I said, gaping.

"You were hurt about as bad as you could be and still live through it, Jocelyn," Daddy said. He looked a mix of frightened, sad, relieved and angry and said, "Warren… he nearly got you. I will remember Royal as long as I live, Jocelyn, I swear to you I will— because if he hadn't knocked you aside the little bit he did, that bullet would have hit your heart."

"I know," I whispered. "I knew— I saw the gun and the whole throwing things knack, I guess… I guess that lets me see things backwards, too. I could tell where Warren's shot was going to hit. And R-Royal… he s-s-saved me, and oh, GOD, I want him back!"

I was gone again, sobbing and hurting, and my parents held me. When I stopped, maybe ten minutes later, Aunt Dawn came in with a meal tray. Soup, sandwiches, a pile of chips, a big glass of apple juice, and she said, "You need to eat. I know, you probably aren't hungry— but you need to eat, Jocelyn. Healer's orders."

"All right," I said. Aunt Dawn took the tray to the small desk in the guest room, and I managed to remember to say thank you before I sat down and ate.

I couldn't tell you what the soup was, or the sandwiches— it tasted like water and cardboard to me. Mom and Daddy sat together on the bed and watched me. I could tell they were worried, and I got why— but it didn't have any impact, you know? I got it— but I didn't care.

Once I'd finished, I said, "Mom, could you get me come clothes, please? I need to talk to Giles, and going to him in panties and a T might send him into apoplexy."

"All right, sweetie," Mom said, standing. She came over and hugged me, said, "I'll be right back."

I expected Daddy to ask why I needed to talk to Giles, but he didn't. He just put an arm around my waist and held me when I sat back down next to him, petted Richter when my puppy got up on the bed and lay across our laps again.

After a few, Mom came back with clothes for me, and I excused myself to shower and dress. When I came out, Mom helped me brush out my hair, then followed me out to the main part of the house.

Belinda, my ten year-old sister, sometimes psychic, always cool, hit me in a hug as soon as I came out of the guest room. She hugged me, wept some, let me cry on her, then let me go. I got four steps and Colin was there, wrapping me up, holding me against another storm of tears. Then Mi Kyong and my little sister Danielle together….

It took me a half an hour to get to Giles's house, because everyone hugged me, and I hugged back and I cried a lot more.

I never saw a pseudo dragon. Not at our house, not when I got across the yard to Giles's house. They knew. They understood, even before I did, that I couldn't bear seeing them, not then, not so soon. True to the nature of the species, they made sure I didn't have to see them, to be reminded.

Once I'd stopped crying on Giles, I sat down next to him on the couch in the study. Only seven of us in the room, me, Giles and Kelly, Mom and Dad, Buffy and Xander. Once I'd gotten my post-cry hiccups under control, I looked at Giles and spoke.

"I need a favor, Giles, please," I said.

"Ask, my dear."

"You know that little glade back by the stream where I go to think and be alone, sometimes?" I asked. "The one over here, on your property?"

"Yes, I know where you mean," Giles said.

"Could I… could I b-bury Royal there?" I asked. "He— he loved it there, as much as I do, and I think— I think he'd be h-h-happy there."

"Of course you may, Jocelyn," Giles said, and hugged me. "Of course you may. Would that it were not necessary— but if it will make you feel better, if you feel that he would like it— yes, of course."

"You show me where tomorrow, and I'll help you dig, Jocelyn," Xander said.

"No, thank you, Xander," I said. I hesitated, trying to work out what I needed to say, then gave up on being fancy about it. "I don't want help. It needs to be me. Just me. I'll dig the grave, I'll fill it in, and I'll make a— a m-marker for h-him. Just me."

"Okay, Jocelyn," Xander said. He came over and hugged me, held me for a minute, and said, "I get it. Will you need tools for the marker?"

"A chisel." I gulped air, clung to the comforting solidity of Xander and said, "And a hammer. Maybe… different sizes."

"I'll put them out on the table on the patio before I go to bed," Xander said, and squeezed me one more time before letting go.

"Thanks," I said. I turned back to the others and said, "Warren. Did that bastard— did anyone else d-d—"

"There were no other casualties, no," Giles said gently. "Thanks to Mi Kyong's dream and Ballard's understanding of what it meant, we were able to prepare the other teams. Warren did attempt other strikes, expecting to have the element of surprise, thinking we would have told everyone he was dead, but I was able to warn everyone in time. Five more of Warren's bodies have been destroyed, though there are at least twenty-nine more."

"All right," I said. I didn't add that this meant that I could maybe kill him twenty-nine more times, but I know that everyone knew I was thinking it. "I need… where is Royal? I need to… to s-say g-g-goodbye."

"All right, honey-girl," Daddy said. "Come on, I'll take you to him."

I followed, half-blinded by tears. No one ever faulted me for not saying thank you or goodbye to everyone— they understood.

Daddy had put Royal on the balcony off of my room, over in the corner where he'd always loved to lay, because the sun hit that spot more than any other. Maybe you think that was morbid or ghoulish— but I didn't, and it wasn't. He'd loved being there. It was right for him to rest there until I could bury him.

I knelt next to Royal, who lay curled up like he usually was when he was out there, but it was… different. Like a person is different after they die, no matter how natural they look, Royal was different, too. I stroked him, just once— it felt too different to be able to stand it.

I didn't say anything, just went inside and grabbed a book— the Sleeping Dragon, the book that had given Thomas the name his dragon, Ellegon, had adopted, Royal had loved that story more than any other— and stopped at the balcony door to hug Daddy again.

"I need to be alone, please," I said. I didn't know if he'd give in to that without arguing, and I didn't think he was going to— but he did.

"All right, Jocelyn," Daddy said. "If you need company, any of us will come— or you can come climb in bed with us."

"I know," I said. I looked up at the mostly-full moon, just rising in the early evening sky, knew it wouldn't last long enough, and said, "Leave the light on in there, please."

Daddy left me alone with Royal's body, and I sat next to him on the balcony floor, opened the Sleeping Dragon, and began to read it aloud for him, one last time— for him.

I read until almost six in the morning, finished it, put it away, and ran my hand over Royal's cool scales once before going inside.

I went downstairs, then to the garage and got a shovel. I went to the patio behind Giles's house, found that Xander had indeed laid out a selection of hammers and chisels for me, and took them and the shovel to the clearing near the stream.

It took me three hours to dig Royal's grave. Maybe it shouldn't have— but I went deeper than I had to, and I had to stop and cry several times. Once that was done, I waded into the stream and found a rock that would make a good tombstone, managed to get it out— it was about eighteen inches wide, two and a half feet long, six inches thick, almost a perfect oval, and buried pretty deep in the mud at the bottom of the stream— and cleaned it off.

I took five hours to carve that rock into a grave marker for my friend. I practiced first on another rock, to get the feel of the tools, and it's a good thing— not easy to use a hammer and chisel, I came away with a new respect for sculptors who work in stone— then carved what I had to say on Royal's stone.

I finished, sat back— and a voice in my head said, _*It is right, Jocelyn. Thank you— it is right._*

I jerked in surprise at that unexpected mental voice, cocked the chisel I still held back to throw it— then relaxed when I saw Glitter, Aunt Rose's pseudo dragon friend, the first pseudo dragon to come here and Royal's _mother,_ sitting on a branch just over my head.

I didn't say anything, couldn't say anything— but I held up my arms, and Glitter almost dove into them, pressed against me, and we wept together for her child, my lifelong companion whom we'd both loved.

After a half an hour, when I could think clearly again, Glitter climbed up on my shoulder, and I walked back to the house. No one said anything about me being gone all morning. Mom had saved my lunch, asked me to eat, and I did, feeding Glitter, who stayed with me, little bites of pork roast and rolls.

When I finished, I rinsed my plate, then said, "I'm going to shower and change clothes, then… then I'm going to bury Royal. If anyone wants to come say goodbye, they can."

"All right, sugar," Mom said. She hugged me, and I hugged back so hard that I think it's a good thing she's a Slayer, too.

Glitter curled up on my bed while I showered and dressed— casually, clean jeans and a button-down blouse, because I'd be working again, and Royal wouldn't care what I wore— and picked Royal up to take him to the glade where he'd be resting forever.

Everyone came. All of my family and friends, and that includes the pseudo dragons, now that I could take seeing them.

I as soon as I entered the clearing, the pseudo dragons, as they had at Alex's funeral, made a column of counter-rotating flying circles above the grave. In the first layer, ten feet above the grave, Glitter, Charm, Sunset, Neon and Joyce's Leia (who had been among the first batch of hatchlings that Royal had fathered). Above that, the rest, some forty-plus pseudo dragons (there were guests who didn't live there present, accounting for the larger numbers), all flying a memorial to my friend.

I tried to say something after I'd laid Royal in his grave and climbed out, tried to make people understand. All that came out was a sobbed, "I love you, Royal— and I'll miss you forever!"

Aunt Sh'rin spoke for me, gave a short service like she'd given at Alex's funeral— then I started filling in the grave. It didn't take near so long— less than half an hour— and no one left.

Once the grave had been filled and smoothed, I went to where I'd left the stone after carving it, lifted it— and drove it into the earth at the head of Royal's grave, hard, almost viciously. The others looked at it, nodded— and slowly, people started drifting off.

_Here lies Royal, one of the first pseudo dragons born on Earth._

_He died that a friend might live._

_Always, he will be missed._

I stayed there at his grave until suppertime, with only Richter and Glitter for company— then I went and started trying to pick up the pieces of my life.

Royal would have wanted it that way.

It wasn't easy. I hurt, and I had to almost constantly remind myself not to let the hurt do my talking at first.

I hadn't been in any shape to notice him while burying Royal, but I wasn't too surprised when I walked into Graham as I came around the corner of my house— his pseudo dragon pal Neon had been in the memorial column, after all. He hugged me, and we just stood there for a long moment, holding onto each other. Finally, I backed up some, took his hands and said, "Thanks."

"Anytime," he said, his voice soft and serious. "Anything I can do?"

"Yes," I said, and he looked surprised. "Graham… START has a lot of funky experimental weapons, right?"

"Yeah, the armory guys are always tinkering around with new stuff," he admitted. "Why do you ask?"

"You know my taste in weapons," I said., locking my eyes on his. "If you have anything that I can use well that's electrified— I want it."

He stared at me for a long moment, looked sideways to his shoulder at Neon, then back at me.

"Well, no electrified swords, I'm afraid," Graham said slowly. "And crazy-discs, no shockers there. Best I can do for that is a nightstick. But… Jocelyn, how would you feel about some crazy-discs that could be set to explode, either on impact or from one to five seconds after being thrown?"

"That'd be great," I said. "Warren… he's a complete bastard who hates to be beaten. He'll be after me, too, me and Mom, not just Buffy and her family, now. He won't… he's so messed up he won't be able to understand how much he's already hurt me. It won't be enough. So… I want an edge."

Graham's jaw dropped and he said, very softly, "Holy shit. Holy freaking shit!

"Jocelyn— damn, girl! I never saw that! I've read the profile on him, I knew all the bits that make what you said absolutely right, and I never even saw it! And you saw it, even in the middle of hurting like hell? I'm impressed!"

"Don't be," I said. I looked up at him and gave him the one thing I had to give him right then— the truth. "Don't be impressed, Graham. I saw it, and it's true— but I went and looked for that. I looked for an _excuse_— because I want to kill him _as many times as I can!"_

He hugged me, really hard, and said against my hair, "No blame from this quarter, Jocelyn. But… promise that you'll be careful, please? That you won't… get reckless."

"I promise," I said. I tried to smile, couldn't quite make it. "Graham, I _have_ to be careful— because if one of him kills me, that means I won't get to go after however many more of him are left.

"I'm not going looking for him, Graham— I swear it, I swear it on— on Royal's grave!

"I'm not going looking for him— but that scum-sucking toaster-rapist isn't killing anyone else that I care about, not if I'm around to stop him!"

Graham looked at me, snorted a tiny laugh at the "scum-sucking toaster-rapist" part, then nodded at me.

"That's good enough for me, Jocelyn. I'll get you the stick and the discs— some of those for you and your mom both— but I'm going to have to tell your folks."

"I know," I said. "I know, Graham. It's fine. I meant what I said, and I'll let Willow in to look if they need that. I'm not chasing him, looking for him— but if Warren comes around again, I want to be able to blow him to smithereens before he so much as _touches_ someone I love."

He nodded, and we went inside together.

I ate supper, enough to fill me, though I didn't enjoy it much. Then I sat with Colin, watched a movie with the family. I went to bed very early— I'd been up all night the night before and worked hard that day, remember— and asked to sleep alone that night. Colin accepted it, didn't seem upset by it— he understood.

Friday, I showed up for training, and got included. I worked until told to stop, ate when told to eat, went to Royal's grave for a bit after lunch and before training started again. After the afternoon training session was over, I went to find Diane Hodges to get back to work on getting past my issues with not having been Chosen. She seemed surprised to see me, and didn't try to hide that.

"I need to get past this," I said after she admitted she hadn't expected to see me yet. "I need to be… the Slayer I was. More. I… Diane, Royal said that as often as— more often than— anyone else. So… I'll get past it. For him, mostly— but because I need to, too."

"All right, Jocelyn," Diane said, her eyes almost glowing with approval. "Then let's get to work."

Friday night at supper, I had to leave the table for a bit, come back after I'd calmed down. Not like it was her fault, but my sister Danielle, all of eight years old, felt absolutely awful over saying what she did.

She came in last of all, and she was almost bouncing off of the walls when she ran in, without her electric-green pseudo dragon (named Muppet) with her for the first time I could remember in a long, long time.

Danielle stopped between Mom and Dad's chairs, and said with a huge grin, "Guess what! Mom, Dad, everybody, guess what!" Before anyone could even start to guess, she near-yelled, "Muppet laid EGGS!"

I froze for a moment, then stood up, mumbled, "excuse me," and left the room.

I went to the nearest bathroom— we were eating at Giles and Company's house that night— sat on the toilet and cried for a couple of minutes, then washed my face and went back out to the table. Danielle got up and ran to me as soon as I came in the room, almost crying in her upset at having upset me.

"I'm sorry, Jocelyn!" Danielle almost wailed, and flung herself into my arms. "I didn't think, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make it hurt again!"

"It's okay, Dani," I said, and hugged her. "It's okay. I think— well, around here? I'd better get used to it."

"I— okay, but I'm still sorry," Danielle said, and went back to her seat.

I sat down, I ate, I helped clean up— my turn in the rotation— then I took Richter out for a walk, put him on the leash to start him getting used to it, and went around the block a time or two. He didn't like it at all, but I knew he needed to get used to it. Once we got back to our yard, I let him off the leash and we played chase for a while. Good, silly fun, and I needed it.

I didn't ask to sleep alone that night, but I didn't start anything sexy, and neither did Colin.

Saturday was Friday all over, minus the time with Diane, and with the addition of me riding with Spider Robinson and his pseudo dragon, Willis, up to orbit in the pressurized chamber that Uncle Ballard had commissioned so that the pseudo dragons could join us at Asimov Station. Aunt Elaine and Charm came, too, and I have to admit— watching Spider's excitement at _finally getting into space_ was a joy.

Just before he got on board the shuttle to Asimov, after Colin had found it and mated the locks of shuttle and chamber, he hugged the stuffing out of me, then hugged Aunt Elaine even longer and harder— then once more, asking her to pass the second one on to Colin for him.

"I'll see you next time you come up," Spider said. "I'm not coming back down— I got a job here that includes living space, writing a column about life in space for the United Press Syndicate. So when you come up to dance again— and you'd _better_ come up to dance again!— I'll be here to see it live."

Colin took us home, then, and I went off to find Uncle Ballard for some extra Capoeira lessons. He was amenable, though he kept it down to an hour, mindful of not working me too hard. After that was over, he asked me if I wanted to join a super hero role-playing game that Thomas was going to start that night.

"I… no," I said. "Not yet, Uncle Ballard. Too… I'm still too subject to hurt to try something like that."

"Okay, that's fair," he said. He hugged me, let go— then his eyes lit up. "Oh. Wow. I don't think we ever told you…."

"Told me what, Uncle Ballard?" I asked.

"Your psychic little sister had a vision while we were up on Asimov Station," Uncle Ballard said. "Mostly about other stuff, but there was a bit about helping Colin. And it occurs to me, thinking about super hero games, that you could probably help us help him on that."

"What was said?" I asked.

"I don't remember the wording, exactly— I'm not your dad or Giles, my memory isn't that good— but in essence, it said that Colin will have to reclaim his identity as Starpulse, that he _is_ Starpulse, and he'll have to admit that to save lives." Uncle Ballard gave me a little grin and said, "Now, the best way I can think of to do that is for _you_ to design him a new costume, Jocelyn— something that calls to mind his original outfit, maybe, but is still different.

"If it comes from you, he's less likely to shy away from putting it on."

"I can't sew at all," I pointed out.

"No need," Uncle Ballard said. "I said 'design,' not 'make,' kiddo. I've got character blanks for the game we're playing— and they come in two kinds, one for the character's stats, the other for the costume. It's a blank body, male or female, that you can draw the costume on. I give you a couple of the blank male body sheets, you tinker, we have someone else make it when it's done."

"Oh." I thought about that for a minute, then smiled a little. "That sounds… neat. Yes, please. A couple of blanks, a bunch of colored pencils, and the net, that's what I'll need."

Uncle Ballard got me the blank-body-drawings— just a male form with rudimentary muscle lines on it— and we found some colored pencils. I sat down at a computer in the study, started an image search for "super hero"— and went to work.

Colin's original costume had been snug black jeans, bloused into black boots, and a snug white pullover shirt with a golden eight-rayed star— two long rays vertical, two horizontal, four short ones on the diagonals— on the chest, and a tie on white mask that covered his hair and upper face. I thought about just swapping the colors here and there, decided that wasn't quite enough, and went further. Uncle Ballard came to find me just before supper, and I'd just finished.

I showed him what I'd come up with, and a slow grin broke out over his face. "Hey, you don't want to play Thomas's game right now, I get it— but can I get you to design my character's costume?"

"You like it?" I asked.

"It's great," Uncle Ballard said. "Acknowledges his old costume, but it's different enough that I think he'll be able to wear it without feeling hurt. Can I have this to show Kelly? If she can't make it herself, she'll know where to take it to get it made."

"Betcha," I said. Then I said, "But when the time comes, Uncle Ballard— I want to give it to him, and I want Mi Kyong there with me. Comes back to that thing about him accepting stuff better from me. From me and his adopted little sister, I bet that will work even better."

"Oh, good point," Uncle Ballard said. "Okay— come on, supper time."

I followed Uncle Ballard to the patio (we were all eating outside, it was a beautiful day for it), and this _smell_ hit me. Knowing that I still hurt, that I hadn't yet gotten to eating for more than the necessity of fuel, Daddy, Kelly, Xander, Sh'rin and Thomas had cheated, and fixed my favorite foods.

Butterfly pork chops marinated in Xander's own secret marinade sauce, then cooked to slow, tender perfection on the grill, slathered in tons of barbecue sauce for the last twenty minutes of so of cooking, Daddy-made barbecue sauce, with a special addition to the sauce for me, Xander and Mom— about a ton of hot sauce, cayenne pepper and habanera juice to make it _nuclear_ _hot_ barbecue sauce. Then add roasted potatoes from Kelly, with this perfect blend of seasonings, Daddy-made rolls, a Sh'rin-made salad and a dressing made by Thomas… my appetite finally pushed through my pain and made itself known. Hell, it ROARED to announce its presence!

I ate until I just couldn't eat any more— then I hugged each of the cooks and thanked them.

That night, as though waking up my appetite for food had woken other appetites, I pretty much attacked Colin as soon as we were in our room, and we made love until neither of us could move.

Sunday went well. Lots of playing, and I went to a movie with Colin and Mi Kyong and Riley Giles, came home and found out from Aunt Rose that the shooting had started on the third movie based on one of her books— and that a big-name producer for Hollywood movies had come to her to ask about her feelings on him buying the rights to Chosen To Stand with the intention of making it a sixteen or-twenty-hour mini-series on HBO.

"He said he won't do it if I'm not involved," Aunt Rose said, looking delighted. "I've talked to most everyone who'd be represented in it, and they're all in favor, so I told him I'd need to see a script, first. He said I should have it in my email tomorrow!"

I loved the idea almost as much as Aunt Rose did.

Over the next week, not much happened. I trained as much as the Watchers would let me, spent time with Colin, time with my family, my friends… I recovered a little from the hole that losing Royal had left in my life. Richter helped a ton— training a puppy is a great distraction, and playing with a rowdy, cuddly, playful, snuggly puppy an even better one.

It didn't keep me from being sort of a bitch the next Sunday afternoon, though.

Friday afternoon, a week after she laid them, Muppet's eggs hatched. I didn't go see the babies, and no one faulted me for that. But Sunday at lunch— again outside, with all the newbies joining us— Danielle brought the babies out to play on the table under Muppet's watchful eye (and Danielle's, too), and I… well. Okay, I was a bitch.

At first, it was okay. Six little dragons, all cute (okay, that's obvious, baby dragons are ALWAYS cute). I even petted a couple who came over to meet me, one who was the most INSANELY BRIGHT shade of yellow that I've ever seen, and one who was a very mellow, relaxing shade of blue. They came over, begged a bite of hamburger, let me rub their heads, and wobbled off. No problem.

I watched three of the others— brick red, party-orange and a sort of electric teal— wrestling in the middle of the table, and wondered idly where the sixth had gone— until I looked back down at my plate.

Sitting in front of my plate, staring up at me with eyes of liquid brass, was this slightly-larger-than-average baby pseudo dragon with scales that were so dark a red that they almost looked black. You could only tell that they were red near the edges of the wings, the joints of the legs, the places where foot and claw met and the tip of the tail. I reached down to rub its head, and immediately knew that it was a she.

That… upset me. I hadn't gotten that much, even, from the yellow or the blue one, and getting it from this little darker-than-dark red thing… it upset me.

"I think you need to move, or you'll fall," I said. Mi Kyong, sitting next to me, looked at me oddly, and I realized that my voice had come out… dry and harsh. I hadn't meant for that to happen, but it had.

"Sorry," I said to both Mi Kyong and the dragon. "But really, you should move. Please."

The dragon peeped, a rising, questioning sort of noise, and moved to one side. I did my best to ignore her as I went back to my food— but she sat there, a couple of inches from the plate and watched me.

I tried giving her a bite of hamburger, and she ate it with relish— but didn't go away.

I ate quickly, then got up and walked away from the table before the little pseudo dragon could edge closer again. As I stood, I heard a sad little sound from the dragon— and I almost ran into the house.

I went out the front of the house, rather than go back out the back, and went to sit by Royal's grave— where I wept for most of half an hour before I got up and went to take Richter for a walk.

I spent the next week trying to ignore that pseudo dragon. She'd come to me at meals, sit as near as I'd let her, watch me, try to come close enough to touch me, try to get me to touch her. Sometimes I'd feel this little feathery touch on my mind, and I'd start thinking in limericks, or about multiplication tables or reciting stuff I'd memorized for school in my head.

I kept that up— right up until Mi Kyong showed me that I was being an idiot.


	25. In Flight, Freedom

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 25: In Flight, Freedom

_Interlude:_

From the first time that Jocelyn reacted strongly to the little so-red-she-was-almost-black pseudo dragon, something tickled the back of Mi Kyong Takeda's mind. Something she should remember, but she had no idea what it might be….

Then, a week after the first time the little thing had tried to make overtures to Jocelyn, Jocelyn… well, it wasn't an explosion. She snapped at the little dragon— and that flipped a switch in Mi Kyong's mind.

Jocelyn was eating breakfast in the nook with her parents, talking with them about some training she wanted to do, and Dark Red (as always, until they chose names for themselves from the mind of their intended human, the babies were called by color), flying by that time, flew over to land next to Jocelyn's plate. Jocelyn, focused on her parents, didn't notice as the baby pseudo dragon reached over to nudge her hand with her nose.

Jocelyn reacted as though she'd been stung, leaped up and back from the table, knocked over the chair she'd been sitting in and said, almost _cried,_ "Don't! Don't do that, _I don't want you!"_

Then she ran out the back door and away across the yard, heading for Giles's property and Royal's grave.

Chantelle and Whitey looked at each other in shock— and the baby pseudo dragon sat next to Jocelyn's plate and wept.

Even as Chantelle and Whitey started talking in low whispers and Muppet flew over to comfort her child, Mi Kyong sat bolt upright and stared off at nothing— or perhaps into a dream.

It had been from Mi Kyong's Slayer dream. Dancing against a backdrop of stars, dancing grief and pain around two stars, one the gold-white of Colin's super powers, one the violet of Jocelyn's eyes, Aunt Elaine had said to her, _Jocelyn must not reject the dark, Mi Kyong. She _must not!_ Her hurt will make her… more stubborn than usual. Yet you can make her see, you can show her— because you have seen. You have seen the flight, and the flight is forever._

_When Jocelyn rejects the dark, you must make her see the flight._

"Rejects the dark," Mi Kyong said softly. "She must not… I must make her see… see the flight? What does that mean?"

"Mi Kyong?" Colin said from beside her. "Are you okay?"

She looked at him, tried a smile, and apparently got some result, as he relaxed a little. He'd tensed up when Jocelyn had run out, but Diane had told them all that they must not intrude on her at moments like this, not yet. "I… think I must speak to Elaine." She hesitated, then said, "Yes. And then I must… I must try to make Jocelyn understand."

"Okay, this is nice and mysterious," Colin said. "Elaine was going back to their place to dance some."

"Thank you," Mi Kyong said. "Colin… soon I will need your help to… to reach Jocelyn, I think. You… you can sometimes say things better than I, and that may be very important."

"When you need me, I'll be there," he said, and hugged her before she got up. "In the meantime, I'm going to go mow the yard. See you later, sis."

Mi Kyong stood and went towards the back door, and almost walked into Chantelle as she moved to go out herself.

"Hey, sugar," Chantelle said. "Look, if you're 'bout to go talk to Jocelyn, can it wait? I think it's time I gave her some what for."

"I— no, you shouldn't do that," Mi Kyong said, gently taking Chantelle's arm. "Chantelle, please, I— it is important that this be— it must be done right. It must! The dream, it— I—"

Mi Kyong dissolved into rapid-fire Korean and tears, and Chantelle stared in amazement for a moment before she pulled Mi Kyong into a hug (even as Fog flew in from the living room and perched on Mi Kyong's shoulder, peeped in distress at Mi Kyong's upset), then pulled her over to the breakfast nook and sat the girl down between herself and Whitey, who looked at her in surprise.

"Mi Kyong, what's wrong?" Whitey asked as his wife slipped an arm around the girl's waist and held her tightly. Mi Kyong always seemed so calm and level-headed, this was totally unlike her. "What is it, honey?"

"The dream!" Mi Kyong said. "The Slayer dream, I think— part of it is— I need to see Elaine, please, and you mustn't— Jocelyn must be made to— don't talk to her about the baby dragon, not yet! I have to— I need to talk to Elaine!"

Whitey looked sideways at Phantom, his pale blue pseudo dragon and said, "Phantom, could you call Charm and ask her to tell Elaine that we need to see her, please? Pretty much now."

Whitey cleared everyone else out of the room, then he and Chantelle did their best to help Mi Kyong calm down. The girl had stopped crying, at least, when Elaine came in, moving quickly, but not running.

"What's wrong?" Elaine asked. She looked surprised as Mi Kyong immediately leaped to her feet and took both of Elaine's hands. "Mi Kyong? What is it, honey?"

"The Slayer dream I had," Mi Kyong said, her voice rising and falling as she fought off tears again. "I have remembered some of it, but I don't understand all of it, and it was you that told me what I don't understand. I need to know, _I must know_— what is the flight?"

"The flight?" Elaine said. "Well, it has a lot of meanings. What did I say? What was happening?"

"I— I am afraid to tell you," Mi Kyong said. She looked at Whitey and Chantelle and said, "I would not give you reason to… to fear."

"Aw, sugar, that's sweet, but it's pretty damn silly, too," Chantelle said as Elaine moved herself and Mi Kyong to sit between Whitey and Chantelle. "Honey, talking about scary things, that makes 'em less scary, most times— and we might be able to help, too."

"I… it is… is very scary," Mi Kyong said.

"Tell us, Mi Kyong, please," Whitey said. "It involves Jocelyn, obviously, and at this point, not knowing will frighten us more than knowing."

"All right," Mi Kyong said. "I… I saw Elaine dancing. Out in space, among the stars. She danced a— a part of Souls, Like Scattered Stars, only… like two parts made one. She danced sad and hurt and scared— but she danced it around stars, like she danced love and farewell around stars later. And the stars, they— one was for Colin and the other was for Jocelyn. The colors— they were for Colin and Jocelyn."

All three adults inhaled sharply, and Whitey said, "Shit!" very softly.

"And I said something, Mi Kyong?" Elaine said. "Something about a flight?"

"Yes," Mi Kyong said. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and said, "You said, 'Jocelyn must not reject the dark, Mi Kyong, she _must not!_ Her hurt will make her more stubborn than usual. Yet you can make her see, you can show her, because you have seen. You have seen the flight, and the flight is forever.

" 'When Jocelyn rejects the dark, you must make her see the flight.'

"Then it changed, and it was about… something else, something I don't remember, not yet, not… not all of it. But the little man, he said that Jocelyn would fail to see if she had rejected the dark, and that could be… very bad. Something horrible could happen, something could… break?"

" 'The flight,' what did I— dream me— mean by that?" Elaine said. "The flight of stars? The flight to the stars? Maybe— I flew a lot, I guess, in the dance I did, maybe she should watch it ag— what, Charm?"

Elaine's golden pseudo dragon had nudged her head forcefully, and when Elaine met the dragon's gaze, Charm was able to push her thoughts through Elaine's concentration.

_*'The flight' can refer to a group of my kind,*_ Charm said. _*Ask if there was a flight of pseudo dragons in Mi Kyong's dream._*

"Good idea," Elaine said, and kissed the dragon's head. "Mi Kyong, was there maybe a group of pseudo dragons in your dream at some point?"

Elaine knew the answer by Mi Kyong's widening eyes, before the girl got around to near-shouting, "Yes! Yes, at the beginning, before I met Michael, there were many, many pseudo dragons around me, in the trees and— and Awai was there! Awai, the first pseudo dragon I ever knew, she— yes!"

"Okay, so now we have to figure out why 'the flight is forever,' and what that means to Jocelyn," Whitey said. "Good job, Charm— thank you."

Charm bumped Whitey's cheek gently in acknowledgment, and Mi Kyong said, "Perhaps— I know that pseudo dragons have long range on their telepathy, but not from here to Japan, I don't think?"

All four dragons shook their heads, and Mi Kyong sighed in frustration. "All right, then I will have to— Whitey, do you think you could find a phone number for Mr. Nakamura? Hideo Nakamura, in Asahikawa, Japan? If I could speak to him, he could speak to Awai, and tell me what she says."

"Let's go find out," Whitey said. "Chantelle, I think Mi Kyong is right— this isn't the time to talk to Jocelyn about her pushing away little Dark Red, not yet."

Chantelle nodded, looked through the kitchen door and into the dining room, where her youngest sat at the dining room table, petting both Muppet and her dragon's daughter and crooning to them softly. "Yeah, I can't argue. Okay— but get a move on, will you? Jocelyn's hurting herself and that little girl both, an' there ain't no call for that."

After Mi Kyong had thanked Elaine effusively and hugged her long and hard, Whitey took the girl to the study and had her spell her old friend's name, as well as the name of the town where they had both lived, and he started an internet search while Mi Kyong sat and cuddled Fog a little, letting the little pseudo dragon calm her further.

He found a reference to Hideo Nakamura of Asahikawa, Japan in just a couple of minutes— but it was definitely not what he wanted, nor what he expected. He checked the link to make sure and saw not just the man's name, but that of his pseudo dragon.

(The Japanese, with their long history of both legends about and reverence for dragons, were much more accepting of pseudo dragons in their public culture than Americans were. To Whitey's knowledge, there was no place in Japan that refused entry to pseudo dragons, and they were treated as well as or better than people. It didn't surprise him to see Awai's name listed also in this context.)

"Mi Kyong," Whitey said slowly, bracing himself for a storm of tears, "are you certain that it was Awai that spoke to you in your dream?"

"Yes, it was Awai," Mi Kyong said. She smiled and said, "She was the first pseudo dragon I ever knew, Whitey— I could never forget her, or make a mistake."

"I… see," Whitey said. "In that case, I'm both confused and… and sorry, Mi Kyong.

"Mi Kyong, according to the English version of the Asahikawa newspaper, Hideo Nakamura and his pseudo dragon companion, Awai… they both died in a train wreck there, almost two years ago."

Mi Kyong drew in a long, shuddering breath, sobbed once— then her eyes flew open wide, and she actually… smiled?

"I understand!" she said, her voice still shaky, but her sobs gone. "Oh, gods! Yes, I understand! 'The flight is forever!' It's— that's _wonderful!_

"Whitey, I need— I need Willow! And… oh, my mind spins too fast! Yes! Sh'rin! Jocelyn told me that Sh'rin was to hypnotize Andrew! She can— yes! All right! I know what to do! What Willow did with you and Chantelle, when you were hurt right before you married, she can still do that, yes?"

"How did you— oh, right, Rose's book," Whitey said. "Yes, I'm sure Willow can still do that. Why?"

"Because she must, and soon!" Mi Kyong said, bubbling. Remembering how Whitey had called for Elaine, she looked at Fog and said, "Little one, would you call Dingo, ask him to tell Willow that I need to speak to her immediately, and call Shimmer, have her tell Aunt Sh'rin I need to see her, too?"

Whitey stared as Mi Kyong, tears for her friend leaking slowly from her eyes even as she smiled in delight at her understanding, leaned back and looked at the study ceiling as she said softly and in a tone that implied that she was quoting someone else, 'he is well, and his _new_ garden grows well, even without his favorite helper.'

" 'His _new_ garden'— of course. And of course he would be well, for he was a good man, and is surely rewarded for that."

Whitey didn't say anything, just sat and waited. In just a couple of minutes, Willow and Sh'rin arrived together, and Mi Kyong, tiny, often quiet, occasionally shy Mi Kyong started issuing orders. He listened— and slowly he came to understand.

_I'll be damned,_ he thought, grinning in admiration at Mi Kyong's sudden surety and ease with what needed to be done. _Jocelyn, my girl— you sure do know how to pick your friends!_

_Jocelyn:_

So after I made an ass of myself, treated that baby pseudo dragon meanly and fled from how ashamed and confused that made me, I went to Royal's grave, sat beside his tombstone, and cried for a while.

I didn't _want_ to be mean to her, to make her sad— but I couldn't stand that thought of someone who wasn't Royal in my head. No way. I didn't want another pseudo dragon, damned sure not that soon. Only a little more than two weeks since my Royal, my lifelong best friend had died, and now… now another dragon wanted to just— just step in and try to take his place? No. I knew she meant well, I knew she only wanted to help, but no!

Richter came along while I was still crying, got as much in my lap as he could, and let me hug him and cuddle him while I wept. After a while, I calmed down, and moved over under a tree, sat with my back against it. Richter moved with me, got back in my lap, and settled in for a nap. I sat there, petting him, and I guess I'd exhausted myself with my crying and my stupid, because I fell asleep, too.

I woke up and found myself surrounded by pseudo dragons, and with Mi Kyong kneeling a couple of feet away from me. She looked somber, almost angry, and I felt small, because I knew she didn't get angry often or easily— and that I deserved her anger.

"You were very mean to that little dragon," Mi Kyong said. She didn't look away from me, just held my eyes and said, "It wasn't fair of you. She only wants to help. She… remember, Jocelyn, her kind read minds— and emotions. She knows you hurt, and she wants to help."

"I don't want her help," I said. "I can't accept it. I _can't,_ Mi Kyong!"

"Why not?" Mi Kyong asked.

"I— Royal was a part of me!" I said. I knew that wasn't enough, and I said, "Mi Kyong, I don't remember a time when he wasn't with me. I was a baby when he bonded to me, and I grew up with him in here." I pressed me hand to my chest, over my heart. "Nothing can fill that empty place where he was, and I— I don't want to hurt that little dragon, but nothing can take Royal's place!"

Then the impossible happened. I heard a voice in my head, a voice— a voice I knew I couldn't be hearing, that I'd never hear again.

_*Jocelyn,*_ said that amused and slightly annoyed dragon-voice, _*Jocelyn, I love you dearly, and I always will. But I believe that I may have to bite you— again!— to make you stop acting the fool!_*

Slowly, against my will, I looked up at the tree branch above and behind Mi Kyong— and Royal dropped off of it, flew over to snuggle into my arms.

Without thinking, I shifted my arms to make him comfortable, and he settled in, just as he always had, craned his neck— easy, when you're a pseudo dragon and are about a third neck— and looked at me with a mixture of love, amusement… and disappointment.

"You… can't be here," I said, my voice thick with tears. "This… isn't real."

_*Define real,*_ Royal said. _*Silly human. Real_ is. _This_ is. _Therefore, this… is_ real.*

"But… you d-d-_died!"_ I sobbed— and immediately, Royal sat up in my arms and pressed his head against my forehead.

_*Yes, Jocelyn,*_ Royal sent, his mental voice soft and gentle, as it had been when I was little and afraid of something. _*I died. Just as did Michael Killian. And Christine Marshall. Yet you know that they have come to visit their loved ones and do not question it— so why do you question this?_*

I understood then, or thought I did. "This… it's a dream?"

"After a fashion," Mi Kyong said. "It is my dream— and Willow has used her telepathy to bring you into it."

"But… why?" I asked. "Royal, why do you have to come through Mi Kyong, why not— why not to me?"

_*It is too soon,*_ Royal said. Then he pulled back from my head a little, locked his eyes on mine and added, _*Or it would be, under most circumstances. The pain this causes… you are not ready, your grief is still too fresh. But you— you make a grave mistake in your hurt. So allowances have been made, that I may… give you a metaphorical bite on the hand._*

"Royal, I— I can't let the little dragon close, not yet, I can't, it's too— I don't want another pseudo dragon, not now, maybe not ever!" I sobbed and pulled him close and he let me— but he also very gently took the edge of my palm in his teeth, just tight enough to dimple my flesh.

_*Shall I bite?*_ he asked, all innocence and good will, _*or will you for once in your life set aside your stubborn nature and_ listen _without having to have your attention grabbed in so messy a fashion?_*

"I— I'll listen," I said grudgingly.

_*A good choice,*_ Royal said primly, and let go of my hand. _*Humans taste far too sweet, and there's no salt shaker here._*

That actually surprised a giggle out of me, and I saw both Mi Kyong and Royal relax at that.

_*I am going to ask you three questions, Jocelyn,*_ Royal said. _*I want you to answer immediately, no thinking. All right?_*

"Yes, all right," I said, and mentally braced myself.

_*Should something happen to Colin, should he— Powers forbid!— snap back to his universe, or be killed,_* Royal asked slowly, _*would you then refuse to love another man after? Ever again?_*

"I— no, I wouldn't do that," I admitted. "But—"

_*Should that happen, would you reject Mi Kyong, who came into your life thanks in part to him?_* Royal sent, giving me no chance to rationalize my answer. _*Send her away because she reminds you too much of what you lost when you lost Colin?_*

"No, no, of course not, Royal, but it's—"

_*Should Buffy and Xander have another child,_* Royal sent, again not letting me explain my answer, _*do you think that Joyce should refuse to let herself love her new brother or sister, simply because he or she is not Alex?_*

"No, of course not, but that's different, dammit!" I said, getting really angry now. "Royal, you were a part of me for my whole life, until that shit-eating son-of-a-toaster-oven killed you! My _whole life!_ I have no memory that doesn't include you until then, so it's tota—"

_*And Alex Harris was a part of Joyce's life from _before their birth,_*_ Royal said, his voice as gentle as it had ever been. _*Yet you say she should not reject another sibling, if fate should give her one._

_*And before you start arguing that silly human obsession with time and duration, ask yourself if Joyce Harris should have been expected to reject a new brother or sister had Buffy been pregnant when Alex died— and given birth to the new child only a few days after._*

I sat there with my mouth open and I stared at Royal for a long moment— then I burst into tears, wept with shame at my own stupid and mean attitude.

Royal… he did as he had always done. He forgave me, he loved me with every fiber of himself, and he made me know both of those things as completely as I knew my name. I wept for a long, long time, holding my dearest friend ever, and he comforted me as only someone who lives inside your mind can.

After a while, I managed to stop crying— and Royal looked up at me, his eyes serious and filled with love— and a spark of dragon-ish humor.

_*Are you going to be able to accept what the little one offers, now?*_ Royal asked. _*Or do I need to ask Willow to conjure up a salt shaker?_*

"No salt shaker," I said, and sniffle-hiccupped. "I… understand that I was being a dumbass, now.

"Royal… I will see you again, won't I?"

_*Oh, yes,*_ Royal said, and gave me that mouth-slightly-open pseudo dragon grin. _*Not too soon, Jocelyn— you do need time to get over your pain some. Perhaps not so long as Elaine needed when her mother and father died, but a while._

_*Still, when the Powers That Be need to show you something, I think that I will give Michael Killian a little break— save him the trouble of trying to deal with your stubbornness, that's a job best left to someone with experience— and come to guide you through it._

_*And when you have accepted my unfortunate departure better than you have now… well, my kind, due to our telepathic nature, can visit the dreams of the living more easily than many. When you are ready, I will come and see you, and meet your new friend, learn her name— and give her hints on dealing with you when you get stupid. Biting a Slayer hard enough to get their attention without actually hurting them— it's not an easy job!*_

"I love you, Royal," I said, laughing a little and hugging him long and firm

_*I love you, Jocelyn, and I always will,*_ Royal said. _*Be well— and be careful.*_

I nodded, kissed Royal's head— then did the hardest thing of all that day, and let him go, let him fly out of my arms. I watched him as he flew up into the sky, saw him silhouetted against the sun—

— and woke up with tears on my cheeks and a nearly frantic puppy trying to lick them away.

"It's okay, Richter," I said, hugging him and clinging for a moment. "It's okay, boy, I'm okay, now."

Once I had as much of a hold on myself as I felt likely to get, I stood, moved to Royal's grave, knelt and traced his name where I'd carved it on the stone. "I'll see you again. Knowing that, knowing that you… that heaven lets pseudo dragons in? Better, knowing that I won't have to wait until I die myself to see you?

"That makes it better. I still miss you, I'll always miss you— but I can deal with it. Now.

"Thank you, Royal."

I got up and went home. Colin was outside mowing the yard, and he shut down the mower when I came close, came to kiss me. I gave back as good as I got, maybe better, and hung onto him for a long moment.

"You okay?" he asked, knowing I'd been crying.

"Better," I said. "Not okay— but better. But I think… I think I can be okay."

"Good," he said, and kissed me again. "I guess Mi Kyong managed to say what she needed to say after all, didn't need my help."

"She said it," I agreed. I snuggled closer to him for a moment and said, "She said it, and she did have help— but it wasn't exactly what she expected to have for help, I don't think.

"So long as it worked," he said, and kissed the top of my head. "So… you seem a little more under control. Are you going to be able to stop being short with that little dragon, now?"

"I am," I said. "I'm on my way to apologize to her now, see if… if my stupid is forgivable, if she still wants… wants what I hope like hell she wants."

"She will," Colin said. He tilted my face up and grinned at me. "Pseudo dragons are smart as a species. She'll forgive you. Hell, they're empathic and telepathic— she probably never actually held it against you.

"Go. Find out her name— I'll expect an introduction when I'm done here."

I went the rest of the way to the house, went in the back to find Mom, Dad and Mi Kyong sitting at the table in the breakfast nook. I didn't say anything, just pulled Mi Kyong to her feet and hugged her as tightly as I ever had. When we finally broke— and that took a while— I spoke.

"Thank you, Mi Kyong," I said. "I'm sorry I made you do that— but damned glad you did it. How did you know? And how did you do it?"

"I knew because of that Slayer dream I had, the one that told me what Warren is, and that Drusilla is with him," Mi Kyong said, holding my hands and smiling at me. "It started with a great many pseudo dragons being there, telling me that it was all right, that I would see scary things, but that I could trust my guide and would not be hurt. Among them was Awai, the first pseudo dragon I ever knew. When I decided to try to contact her, to find out if she knew what I was supposed to do, your father found out that she and her human had died a couple of years ago— sad, but I know that they still exist, and are well and happy.

"But knowing that, knowing that Awai's life had ended, but she had not, that let me know that Royal would be the same. I had Sh'rin hypnotize me into sleeping, sleeping and dreaming of Awai. That led me to the flight of dragons who wait in the dream lands, and that to Awai— and Royal. Then Willow simply pulled you into my dream— and you know the rest."

"Yeah," I said, and hugged her again. "Okay— I have an apology to make. Anyone know where the little dragon is?"

Daddy grinned at me and said, "Point deduction for failure to be aware of your surroundings, young lady. High and left."

I looked up and left, saw that little dragon— such a dark red, it was… well, eye-catching. And gorgeous.

She was sitting on the shade of the light over the table in the breakfast nook, her claws in the little holes in the shade that let hot air out, watching me with those brass-colored eyes.

"I'm sorry," I said to her. "I am so sorry I was mean. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, I just— I was being—"

_*Not mean.*_ She flew over and landed on my extended palm, locked her eyes on mine, and sent a wave of reassurance and understanding. _*Not mean. Hurt. In pain. Not blame._*

"Thank you," I said. I hesitated, then said, "I still wish I hadn't been so stupid."

_*Hurt makes stupid, so not blame,*_ she sent. I reached out to stroke the scales between her wings— a favorite spot for petting on all pseudo dragons, I think— and she started a really high-pitched version of the cackling, bubbling noise of a pseudo dragon purr and said, _*I am Ripley. I stay with you, Jocelyn._*

I laughed-sobbed-sniffled, knowing she'd taken the name from my favorite female character from any movies ever, the heroine of the old Alien series of movies and said, "Yes. Yes, please!"

I turned to my family and said, "This is Ripley. She's going to be my friend, now."

Then I sat down at the table in the nook, put Ripley on my shoulder, and said, "We're hungry. When's lunch?"

I spent the day with Ripley, showing her my room, the glade where Royal was buried, introducing her to everyone. She loved Richter on sight, and vice-versa, and after lunch, we three went for a romp around the yards, played like children, then sat together and just… communed silently for a while. Eventually, I fell asleep with my head on Richter's side— and Ripley fell asleep perched between my puppy's ears. Mom got a picture— a print of it hangs on the wall in my bedroom still.

Ripley didn't try to take Royal's place— but she filled a great part of the void inside me where he'd been, filled it differently than he had, left some places empty, filled up other places that he hadn't. It wasn't like having Royal back— it was very different… but just as satisfying.

For a couple of weeks, Warren and the rest stayed quiet. I don't know if he was making plans or licking his wounds, or having a really long temper tantrum, or what— but we had a respite from him, and that was in no way a bad thing.

When he did start trying to monkey with us again, it was really, really subtle— and it was the pseudo dragons who caught him at it. Mi Kyong helped, knew what it meant— but it was the dragons that caught him.


	26. Along Came…

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 26: Along Came…

Of course, there were things happening that had nothing to do with Warren, Drusilla or Catherine Madison. They were our biggest problem, Team Slayer's biggest problem— but a long way from the only one.

But not a lot came to Bloomington-Normal, you know? I mean, sure, demons are evil, and some are stupid— but not all of them are stupid. The not-stupid ones tended to stay away from Bloomington-Normal, and the stupid ones became target practice and training aids for the newbies.

Still, sometimes things did happen around the house. Not often, no. But… well, there for a while, I thought seriously about refusing any training sessions involving the newbies. Seriously. First Warren shows up during one— then the other mess. I didn't stop attending newbie-sessions only because some good came of that second mess.

Nine days after I stopped being stupid and accepted the friendship of Ripley, the last Tuesday in July, I was out training with Daddy's advanced martial arts group— me, the French Slayer, Marie, Berachah from Israel, and one of the last of that year's newbies to have come in, an Alaskan girl named Samantha (her father was an aikido instructor, her mother taught American Go-ju— the girl had all sorts of scary skills), when the craziness started.

I was upside down and flying through the air (I'd gotten careless while sparring Samantha— bad karma, when your opponent is an accomplished aikidoka), when this flash of light went off at a place about halfway between our little group and the big group that Buffy was working with, some thirty or so yards off. Even as I fell (correctly, thanks to constant drills), the flash resolved itself into a circle of light about eight feet high, and as I rose, a girl or woman came tumbling out of it. All I noticed at first was her clothes, which were odd as hell.

She wore a skintight (or had been skintight, she was too skinny) and badly battered deep red bodysuit that should have clung— and except for the rips on it, it covered her from head to toe, excepting for her heavy, wavy brown hair and the top joint of each finger and thumb. Even her eyes were covered by reflective lenses. The thing looked to be one piece (if a rather badly tattered piece), and had some sort of design in an ivory-white over the chest and back— but I couldn't really take the time to puzzle it out, not right then.

The girl turned an awkward tumble into a controlled fall with no visible effort, and came out of that tumble to stand on her feet some thirty feet from that weird light with an ease that made me jealous— and I'm good with the tumbling, what with all the Capoeira. Her head moved right, then left, and she looked over her shoulder to both sides, then muttered, "Never a frying pan without a fire!" just loud enough to be heard before she shouted, "Everyone GET CLEAR! There's some VERY nasty—"

Something burst out of the light, paused for maybe a second, then locked on the strange girl and snarled at her even as Buffy started calling orders. Even as Buffy spoke, three more of the… whatever-they-were came out of the light and stood there looking around for a moment.

Those things were ugly. And creepy. (And tough kills, we found out.) Essentially, they were insect-like, larger than man sized— around seven feet tall, with that three-sectioned body that is typical of insects. They ran on four of their six legs— they'd have been over ten feet, if they'd walked on two— and used the other two to attack with. All six limbs had way too many joints, something on the order of four elbows per limb, and the front two limbs were tipped with "hands" that had five fingers and two opposable thumbs, each of these tipped with long, nasty claws. The narrow spots between their three-sectioned bodies weren't as proportionately narrow as a normal-sized insect's would have been, and seemed to be well armored. Their heads looked… disturbingly human-like, though they, too, were naturally armored, and about the size of a big watermelon.

"Lydia, Dawn, Sh'rin, Whitey, get the girls inside!" Buffy snapped. "Rose, Elaine, Chantelle, Jocelyn, we cover their retreat. Jocelyn, Chantelle, go for ranged attacks! Willow, do what you can, but don't close the gate down if you don't have to— we don't know what's going on!"

"Are you NUTS!?" the woman in the red costume yelled, "If somebody can close that thingamabob, DO IT! Those things will KILL YOU IF THEY CAN AND THERE ARE MORE THROUGH THAT LIGHT!"

I dove for my sports bag, resting against a nearby tree, while Mom ran for the tree against which her personal bow rested. (I loved that bow, but Mom was better with it. A metal composite bow made for Slayer strength, it had a three hundred pound pull that dropped to one-fifty on the draw and arrows made to take the strain of that kind of strength.) I came up with a bandolier of crazy-discs, two of them explosive, a second bandolier of throwing knives, dropped those over my shoulders (I'd practiced that since a couple of days after I woke up after Warren killed Royal, and I was good at it— they fell into the right place without me so much as having to shrug to adjust them), and, for good measure, my longsword, which I held left-handed. Sure, I'm ambidextrous about weapons, especially thrown weapons, but I wanted my slightly-smarter right hand free for throwing.

I'll give the woman who'd dived through that gate credit— she didn't lack guts. She dove straight at the first one through, fists and feet flashing with a speed that I thought only Slayer-powered muscles could have produced, and she engaged the front one without letting it advance— thus crowding the others, making it hard-to-impossible for them to get at us and the trainees quickly or easily. Only thing I couldn't figure out was what the mystery Slayer was doing in some sort of superhero costume….

Anyway, her attack on the front one gave me and Mom a couple of shots each. Mom took the one that had started trying to edge around the first one on her side, sent three arrows at it so fast that the first one hit just as she released the third. The first two bounced off the thing's armored head, and it turned to hiss-scream at her— just in time for the third to punch through its mouth and out the back of its head at an upwards angle. It staggered towards her, all grace and care gone, knocking the first heavily forward— and giving the new Slayer a free shot at the first one.

It had been swinging at her with both arms repeatedly, forcing her to block with both of her arms, or dodge— but since she didn't want to retreat, dodging was tough. If she hadn't been incredibly agile, I think she'd have been toast. As it was, when the one Mom killed staggered heavily into the new girl's opponent, its arms flew out sideways for balance or from the impact— and the Slayer in Red did a handspring and kicked up into the thing's chin, bending its neck sharply— and apparently fatally. It staggered forward as it died, knocked her down— but was dead or maybe just dying, and in no shape to take advantage of that.

I'd already flung two knives at the third one, put out one of its eyes, and it was charging me now that it had a clear path. I grinned— and went all Capoeira on its sorry butt. I knew I most likely couldn't hurt it hand-to-hand, it had too much armor. But if it couldn't hit me for my insane acrobatics and dancing, well, that worked, too— because I'd made it so mad that it wouldn't stop trying. If it was chasing me, it wasn't hurting anyone else.

It chased me while Buffy, Aunt Elaine and Aunt Rose went after the fourth, confusing it with multiple targets, and giving Mom shots at it. The Slayer in Red crawled out from under the monster she'd killed, looked around, looked back and forth between me and the gate-light, then started my way, since nothing else seemed to be trying to come through.

"I'm good!" I called, even as I did a series of whip-its around the thing. "Watch the gate!"

She hesitated— then turned back to the gate.

Even as she did, Ripley, flying with the other pseudo dragons well above the battle to stay out of range of being hurt, sent me a thought.

_*Base of head, at back,*_ she sent, her sharp predator's eyes having seen its weakness. _*I see soft spot— to make so can bend, maybe?*_

"Good job, Ripley!" I cried, delighted with her sharp mind. "Relay it to the others!"

A moment later, Buffy and my aunts started leading their demon away a little, lining it up so that Mom had a straight shot at the back of its head.

_*Willow sends through Dingo that as soon as last one is farther away from light, she will make light go away,*_ Ripley sent— and I saw something that puzzled the hell out of me.

The Slayer in Red was looking around wildly, like she had no idea where the voice of my friend was coming from. How could she not know about pseudo dragons? Even if she was one of the few Slayers without a pseudo dragon friend, she'd know about them.

Well, no time to worry about that— monsters to kill!

While Buffy, Aunt Rose and Aunt Elaine tried to get the one chasing them to a good place for Mom to kill it, I went even more crazy with the acrobatics and dancing of Capoeira, bouncing around my opponent with a serious eye to making it confused. Finally, I stopped moving, as it seemed to get both dizzy and slower, and I snatched a crazy-disc (non-explosive variety) off of my bandolier, flung it to one side, then got both hands on my sword and went super-defensive, holding my place and blocking the thing's razor claws for a couple of seconds—

I heard this wet, meaty "thunk," and the thing stood very still for a moment— then sank to the ground, dead as could be. Only about an inch of the six-inch-diameter crazy-disc stuck out of that soft spot at the base of its head.

Even as Mom fired at the base of the last one's head, killing it, Willow cried, "And DONE!" in her big-echoey-powerful-spell voice— and the light just… went away, collapsed.

Immediately, the Slayer in Red let out this big explosive sigh and flopped to the ground, sitting back-but-upright with her weight on her arms and breathing heavily.

"That," she gasped, "was not fun. I've had fun, and it bore no resemblance to fighting… giant mutant ant-things from Outer Don't Go There.

"Speaking of Outer Don't Go There… somebody want to tell me where here is, and how the homina I got here from that wretched hive of scum and villainy that some people like to call Pittsburgh? 'Cause I gotta tell you, this doesn't smell a thing like Pittsburgh (and that's a good thing)!"

For a moment, we all just stood and looked at her. I managed to figure out that the white thing on her chest and back was some sort of spider-symbol, stylized and kind of creepy.

Buffy walked over and stood in front of the Slayer in Red, offered her a hand up. The woman took it, got to her feet (though she seemed a tad bit unsteady, now) and looked Buffy up and down.

"You know," the Slayer in Red said in a tone that seemed to think something was funny, "You bear an _uncanny_ resemblance to Buffy the vampire slayer."

"That's because I _am_ Buffy Harris," Buffy said easily. "You're a Slayer, obviously— where are you from, and what the heck are you wearing?"

"Buffy… Harris?" the Slayer in Red replied— and I saw Aunt Rose look kind of startled suddenly, and start that way. "Like in, what, you married Xander? Not that I can't see that, he's a great character, but— wait, you think I'm a Slayer!?"

"Character?" Buffy said blankly. "Xander's got his funny moments, but— of course you're a Slayer, how else did you get so strong? So fast?"

"Uh, Buffy… look at her clothes," Aunt Rose said, stepping up beside Buffy. "I think… Buffy, Colin alert!"

Buffy looked blank for a moment then said, "Oh. Uh-oh?"

"Somebody want to let the superhero in on the secret?" the woman in red asked, sounding a little worried.

"It's… complicated," Aunt Rose said. She took a deep breath and said, "Look, you're Spider-woman, aren't you?"

"Tragically, yes," the woman muttered, then nodded and said in a normal tone, "At last, a fan! It only took a week, too— you'd think that after seven days of making the streets of the Pitt safe, more people would recognize me."

"Look, Spider-woman," Aunt Rose said slowly. "This isn't going to be easy, but… this is Buffy Harris, used to be Buffy Summers. The Slayer, the Prime Slayer, the one who's in charge. And that's Willow Rosenberg over there. And I'm Rose Killian."

"Sorry, that last one's a blank," Spider-woman said. She sounded stoned, or badly, confused. "But… Buffy? Willow? Xander… only, what, five years after Sunnydale, maybe? Or is it less?" She looked at Aunt Rose and asked, "Are you Baseball Girl?"

"Flatterer," Buffy said, sounding pleased. "Sunnydale sank fifteen years ago and change… Spider-woman, right?"

"Fifteen— what year is this!?" Spider-woman asked, her voice very small.

"It's 2018, of course," Buffy said, looking puzzled. "Wait, are you—"

"Oh, crap." Spider-woman's voice was small, and she began to weave even more on her feet. "First I'm a girl— now I'm freaking _thirty!?"_

With that, she collapsed— but Buffy caught her before she hit the ground.

Immediately, Aunt Dawn and Aunt Sh'rin, who'd been watching from the dorm in case of casualties, came charging out and bent over… Spider-woman, whoever that was. I didn't recognize the name, but Aunt Rose plainly knew of the character.

"Wait!" Aunt Rose said sharply as Sh'rin reached for Spider-woman's mask. "Listen, Sh'rin— to that woman, what you're about to do is… past rude. It's— she'd be furious."

"I must see her face to help her," Sh'rin complained.

"That's fine, but get her indoors, first, at least," Aunt Rose said. "Somewhere where not everyone can see her face."

"I'll get her— Chantelle, you have a spare room still, don't you?" Willow asked. "In case she needs to stay for a bit, or we can't figure out how to send her back right away?"

"Got two, use the guest room on the first floor," Mom agreed. She hesitated, then said, "Hey, Rose? Should somebody familiar go with her, or what?"

Aunt Rose shook her head, unsure. "I'm going to go, I… remember a little bit of stuff about her from what I read. But Buffy seemed to freak her some, so… Jocelyn? You're close to the age I think she is, will you come?"

I looked around, found Daddy— he was standing ten yards or so back, watching calmly— and tilted my head to ask permission.

"Go on, Rose is the expert," Daddy agreed, and I turned to trot after Willow, Aunt Sh'rin and Aunt Dawn as they went towards our house, Willow telekinetically floating Spider-woman along.

We got her into the guest room, Willow set her on the bed— and promptly left, saying, "Comic book character, fewer people seeing her face is good until she's… had time to adjust.

"In fact, maybe the pseudo dragons should wait in the living room? Not so many shocks at once, that way."

The pseudo dragons all agreed, not wanting to upset someone who'd fought with us, and flapped off to wait until called.

Aunt Sh'rin and Aunt Dawn peeled the remains of that red and ivory costume off of her, leaving her in modest panties and a sports bra, and I got a look at Spider-woman. Her face was really pretty, oval, with high cheekbones, a full mouth, and a straight, even nose that fit her face. Her body— she was too thin, but not as bad as Mi Kyong had been when we'd rescued her from North Korea. Still, you could tell that she hadn't been eating right— or, for that matter, maybe not living right. She was filthy, and several cuts on her body looked red and inflamed, as though they were infected. And in spite of all that, she was kind of sexy…. Definitely female, but built on slender lines.

"Undernourished, but not malnourishment, yet," Aunt Dawn said as she looked at some of the inflamed cuts. "Probably why she's not fighting off the infection so well."

"I'd guess she hasn't eaten well for perhaps a week," Aunt Sh'rin said in agreement. "And I think… she seems to have a cold, or perhaps the flu. A low-grade fever."

Very suddenly, Spider-woman jerked awake and sat up, crying, "Mask!" as she did and trying to cover her face with her hands.

"Easy, easy," Aunt Dawn said, "Listen, Spider-woman… you're not on your Earth, so no one here's going to recognize you, it's okay."

"Not… on… holy crap." She lowered her hands and took a deep breath, then opened her eyes. "Oh. Hey. Yowza! Buffy's little sister, right? Dawn?"

"Yes, I'm Dawn," she agreed, and smiled. "Dawn Innes, now, not Summers."

"Yikes." Spider-woman shook her head. "Okay. I'm… uh, you're not going to believe this, but… you can call me Peter? I guess?"

I blinked. Aunt Rose sighed and said, "Oh. So… uh, you didn't keep the Jessica Drew name, smart."

"No way," Peter said, shaking her head. "The CIA came up with that, and Nick Fury and SHIELD were sure to find it in the documents after… after Spider-man and I beat the snot out of Doc Ock."

"Good, that's smart," Aunt Rose said, and moved a little closer to the bed. "Okay. So the last thing you know about us is the closing of the Hellmouth?"

"Yeah." She nodded, winced a little, twisted her neck until it popped. "Ah, better.

"Yeah, the last season of the TV show ended with the Hellmouth closing and the Scooby Gang looking out over the pit, and Dawn… you said something like 'what do we do now,' and Buffy… she smiled. That was the last shot of the show."

"We were… a TV show." Aunt Dawn shook her head.

"What are you complaining about?" Aunt Rose asked, grinning. "It got cancelled before I got to be on screen.

"Hey— was Dawn played by the girl from— wait, what year are you from?"

"It was 2003," Peter said.

"Crap. You wouldn't have seen her in Mercy," Aunt Rose said. "Never mind, not important.

"Look… Dawn and Sh'rin— Sh'rin's the one with the skin to die for— they're healers. Let them look you over and do what they tell you, okay? Then we can talk about other stuff."

"Sure, and thanks," Spider-woman said. "Um. I don't want to be rude, really, I don't, but could I get something to drink?"

"Of course," Dawn said. "And something to eat— soup to start, and maybe one sandwich— you need to start slow. Why haven't you been eating?"

"It's a little hard to eat when you don't have money," Spider-woman said wryly. "Little hard to get money when you can't get a job and won't steal it."

"What happened— no." Aunt Dawn took a deep breath, then concentrated for a moment before she said, "Okay. Food's been ordered. If you want, you can grab a shower— we've got some clean clothes coming, too— before you eat, the clothes will be here first."

"A shower… I think I want to marry you," Peter said— then blushed purple. "Uh, I mean— look, I— damn. Yes. Please. Shower. Clean clothes. I am your unworthy servant!

"But wait— did you go all witchy? Can you do the telepathy thing, like Willow?"

"I can," Aunt Dawn said, blushing, "but not nearly that well. I… look, did you see the little dragons flying around out there?"

"Yeah, they were… pretty cool. Seemed to be on your side?"

"They're our friends," Aunt Dawn said, nodding. "They're pseudo dragons, right out of 'Dungeons and Dragons.' I think you heard Jocelyn's friend Ripley when she told us that Willow would kill that gate?"

"That was a dragon?" Peter said, and she smiled. "I never played D and D, but I wish I had, now. Seriously? A pseudo dragon talked in my head?"

"Seriously," I agreed. "Hi, I'm Jocelyn Penobscot. That was my friend Ripley you heard out there. Would you like to meet her? And the rest of our pseudo dragon pals? They're just staying out of sight to keep from shocking you.

"Oh— and what Aunt Dawn never got to tell you, since we got sidetracked, is that she asked her pseudo dragon companion, Sunset—" Peter snorted a little laugh at that name, and I knew that I'd get along with… her, right then and there. "—and Sunset relayed to someone in the family who isn't busy to get you some clothes and some food."

"Okay, then, yes, please," Peter said, and her grin widened. "I'd love to meet some pseudo dragons."

I called Ripley, and she, Sunset, Glitter and Shimmer all came in. By the time we'd introduced them all to Peter, my sort-of-cousin Linnea (Aunt Dawn's bio-daughter) had arrived with some clean clothes, and we sent Peter off to the shower still grinning and talking over her shoulder to Sunset.

Once we heard the shower start, Aunt Dawn looked at Aunt Rose and said, "What can you tell us, Rose?"

"Very little," Rose said. "I barely remember the comics, just that she was the Ultimate Marvel version of Spider-woman, and I think she was… uh… look, you know, I don't recall much. Just that she wasn't really Jessica Drew, and I think we should wait. Let her tell it. She earned that much courtesy by telling us to back off, getting between those things and what she thought were helpless victims."

"You're right," Aunt Dawn said. "But I want her to eat first."

"I won't die of curiosity while she eats," Aunt Rose said. "Which means Jocelyn won't either, and you two are both way more patient than me or her."

"Oh, sure, pick on the teenager," I said, trying not to laugh— and not making it. "Point, I won't burn up with unsatisfied curiosity or anything.

"But while she's showering, I'm gonna get online and see if there's a girly form of Peter, because calling her Peter is messing with my mind."

I found "Peta," which sounded too much like Peter— I hoped she wouldn't like it— and Petra, which was worse. Okay, maybe she could be Peter after all….

It wasn't long— maybe fifteen minutes before Peter came out of the bathroom— I think knowing that there would be food when she came out is all that kept her from luxuriating in there— dressed in clean clothes, gray sweats and a T-shirt. Her hair had been brushed, her face scrubbed pink, and the clothes fit her pretty well— Aunt Dawn must have guessed her sizes, she's good at that.

Peter saw the tray with a big bowl of still-steaming chicken soup, a half a sleeve of crackers, and a bologna-and-cheese sandwich, complete with little packs of ketchup, mustard and mayonnaise next to it, and I swear, her eyes got teary.

"Okay," she said, looking around at us. "Thank you. Seriously. Food that's not out of a garbage can…. Thank! You!"

We all winced, and Aunt Sh'rin said, "Sit. Eat. Then we will talk. But… you should eat slowly. I know it will be hard, Peter, but you should."

"Lady— Sh'rin?" Aunt Sh'rin smiled and nodded, and Peter said, "I promise you, I will try— but don't be afraid to tell me to slow down, 'cause you may have to!"

Aunt Sh'rin nodded, and we all turned to talk to each other, giving Peter modicum of privacy while she ate. Only once did Aunt Sh'rin say, "Slow down a little, please," and Peter paused long enough to say, "Yes, ma'am." After that, she apparently kept a sane pace.

After a few minutes, she spoke. "Okay. That was… heaven. Again, thank you!"

"You're welcome," Aunt Sh'rin said. "Thank you for listening and eating slowly."

"No problem," Peter said. "Always listen to the doctor, even if she's a healer instead of a doctor."

"Shall we move to a study, or would you like to lie down while we talk?" Aunt Dawn asked.

"No, no need to lie down, I feel so much better that I'm not sure I could lie down, thanks," Peter said. "Study works. Can the pseudo dragons come?"

I grinned. She couldn't have asked a question more inclined to make me like her.

"Absolutely," Aunt Dawn said, and led the way to the study on the first floor. (She knew her way around— we all practically shared houses.) Once we were all seated, Aunt Rose said, "Okay, confession time— I know the most about you, because I'm a comic book fan— but I don't know much. I always preferred DC Comics to Marvel, and you were a Marvel character."

Peter's jaw dropped, and she stared for a second before saying, "I was a comic book? You can't be—" She stopped, closed her mouth, then her eyes, took a deep breath, then opened her eyes and said, "Okay. Sorry. You guys didn't wig over some of you being a TV show where I'm from, so… I'll stay calm."

"Freak if you need to," Aunt Rose said. "I'm still grumpy over the show being canceled before I'd have made an appearance."

Peter actually laughed at that, which seemed to help. Then Ripley flew over and landed on her shoulder, head bumped her cheek, and settled there. That seemed to help even more.

"Okay. You were saying?"

"We don't know much about you, just that you're a superhero," Aunt Rose said. "Given that we'd like to help you out… well, can you tell us something about you?"

"Given that you've already let me take a shower, given me clean stuff to wear, and fed me?" Peter said, looking kind of amazed. "I'd be kind of a jackass— no, I'd be a jackass worthy of Flash Thompson, and he's a professional jackass, he's got jackass endorsement deals, you know?

"I'm not that big a jackass. So, yeah. I can tell you folks."

For a long moment, Peter sat silently, gathering her thoughts. Then she took a deep breath— and told us her story.


	27. Welcome to the Madhouse

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 27: Welcome to the Madhouse

_Interlude: The training area._

Willow finished her spell, and the bodies of the four demons vanished in a flash of light. She looked at Buffy, grinned and asked, "Why can't they all be nice and considerate, like vampires, huh? No clean-up with vamps."

" 'Considerate' and 'demon' are mutually exclusive most times, I think," Buffy said. "Thanks, Wil— those things were starting to stink already."

"Not a problem," Willow said. She looked around as the trainees started forming back into ranks and said, "You know, I still get the creeps about some of the demons we deal with— and with those things, the creeps were seriously creepy, you— hi, Belinda."

Belinda Penobscot, Jocelyn's ten year old sister, was walking quickly and purposefully across the yard towards Buffy, her pseudo dragon Midnight draped around her neck like a scarf. She didn't answer Willow at all, and Wil suddenly felt the waves of sheer _presence_ coming off of the girl, knew that this was not merely Belinda, but Belinda in the grip of the Powers That Be.

"Spider-woman should be allowed to stay here, as she may well wish," Belinda said to Buffy, her voice taking on that thunder of command as it had the last time she spoke for the Powers. "In the end, many skills will be required to save the day— she has some of those skills, can learn more easily, and may be needed.

"Jocelyn's answer to the problem of the star in human form is the correct one. When the time comes, assure her that we will do our best to protect him, to enable him… to live… and to… stay.

"We… promise not… but… we… will… try…."

For a moment, Belinda's pupils, shrunk to tiny dots in the ice-blue irises of her eyes, started to expand— then they shrank again, and she said, "The machine, the vampire and the witch are together— and their attack will be threefold, when it comes. Only… the robot… will be original. The vampire… will want personal revenge. The witch… will repeat… another's… mistake.

"All… must… be… stopped."

Belinda shook herself, blinked— and her eyes returned to normal. She looked around, confused, then said, "Oh. I did it again?"

"You did it again, sugar," Chantelle said, stepping forward and hugging her daughter. "You helped again— and I'm right proud of you."

"Well, I didn't really do anything, but thanks," Belinda said, and hugged her mother. "I like helping, even if I'm only helping by letting the Powers use my brain to tell you stuff."

"You did help," Buffy said, reaching over to stroke Belinda's white-blond hair. "You told us things that will help us do the job of saving the world— pretty big help, honey."

"Good," Belinda said. "Mommy, I'm gonna go back home and wait for lunch. Will it be soon? I'm hungry."

"Soon, sugar," Chantelle said. "See you in a bit."

Belinda hugged Chantelle again, then strolled off to their house.

"Okay, Elaine, take over the class for a few," Buffy said. She started towards the house, called over her shoulder, "I've got to talk to Dawn, then talk to Spider-woman when she's had something to eat."

_**88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888**_

_Jocelyn:_

After listening to Peter tell the story of her life and how she'd come here, all I could do was stare at her for a moment. Then I saw her glance my way and blush, and I shook myself and looked away briefly.

"Okay, I don't know about anybody else," I said when no one spoke for another several seconds, "but I'm impressed. You're tough, Peter. You need a new name— but you're tough!"

Peter actually laughed aloud, then looked down at her lap, where Aunt Sh'rin's friend Shimmer was curled, then to her left shoulder, where Ripley still sat. "I… don't feel so tough. Not really.

"But you're right about the name. Unfortunately, the female versions of Peter just plain suck." She blushed scarlet a moment after realizing what she'd said, and corrected hastily, "The female versions of the _name_ Peter suck, I mean."

"I get it, yeah," I said. I looked around, saw Buffy leaning in the study door, Pointy sitting on her shoulder, and nodded at them. "I looked the name up while you were in the shower. Ugh, Peta, Petra, yeah. Not good."

"How about Piper?" Aunt Rose said suddenly. "That's not any version of Peter, but it sounds close enough that I'll bet you could answer to it."

"Piper." Peter looked thoughtful. "I think… I think I like that, thanks…. How'd you think of that?"

Aunt Rose blushed darkly, but looked her in the face as she said, "I was thinking your name, trying to come up with alternates and I thought… I thought 'Peter. Peter Pan. Peter, Peter, pumpkin-eater. Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers…' and there it was."

Peter snorted, shook her head and said, "I'll take it, thanks, Rose. Or— should I be calling you Miss Killian?"

"Rose." My aunt grinned and said, "Glad you like the name. Can I recommend getting rid of the 'Parker,' too? Might help you avoid the CIA and SHIELD when we figure out how to send you back?"

Piper— it was a lot easier to think of her by that name, I'll tell you— looked confused for a moment, then… well, she sort of deflated. "Go back. Yeah.

"Um. What happens if you can't figure out _how_ to send me back?"

"Well," Aunt Dawn answered, looking a little surprised at Piper's subdued tone, "then I guess we do what we've done a few times before this, and see if you'd like to stay here, if you think you could be happy here. I mean— well, obviously, you could be of some help to us, and you have the right attitude, we know that. You jumped between a bunch of complete strangers and some very nasty monsters, that's the kind of attitude that we like around here.

"But really, it probably—"

"Could we maybe just… just skip even trying to send me home, then?" Piper asked, her voice low, and very, very watery. She was trying really hard not to cry, and not really making it as she continued. "I mean— look, back there I'll never… I'll never stop wanting to find a way to be in Peter's life, to be _Peter_. Constantly reminded of having been Spider-man, of the people I loved and can't ever see again, of— I'll go insane.

"I know you don't know me, and I barely know any of you, but— I don't _want_ to go back!"

Sunset dropped off of Aunt Dawn's shoulder and went to sit beside Shimmer on Piper's lap, even as Glitter flew over and landed in her arms. Then Pointy flew over and landed on the arm of the chair she was using, and lay her head on Piper's arm.

"Endorsements don't get a lot stronger than that," Buffy said from the doorway. Piper looked up at her, confused, and Buffy said, "Telepaths, remember? Empaths, too— they know what you're feeling.

"So when telepathic, empathic critters that we all love and trust all try to make you feel better? It's like… it's like Captain America telling you you're acting like a real hero, I guess." Aunt Rose and Aunt Dawn both looked surprised at that, and Buffy held up a hand. "Come on, guys— I married Xander, I know my way around the comic book worlds."

"So… does that mean…?" Piper said slowly, looking up at Buffy and trying really hard not to look either scared or hopeful, and failing at both.

"It means you need to know one more thing before we decide that you're staying," Buffy said. She moved in and sat on a footstool she kicked over in front of Piper. "We're at war, Piper. There's an alliance of three old enemies of ours out there that want to kill us and everyone associated with us. One of them already murdered my son, tried to murder his twin sister, and killed Jocelyn's first pseudo dragon pal, and didn't miss killing Jocelyn by much. It's… this is _serious_. It's like what would have happened if you and Spider-man hadn't stopped the CIA and Doc Ock, only bigger.

"It's dangerous as hell— and there's reason to think that you can help us against these people. Jocelyn's little sister is subject to getting messages from the Powers That Be, and she got one a few minutes ago that said you might be able to help us at the end of this war. If you stay—"

"Of course I'll help!" Piper said, sitting up straight. "You're the Slayer— one of the Slayers, and Rose said you're… the Prime Slayer, is that right?" Buffy nodded, and Piper grinned. "You're the Prime Slayer, the boss. You want my help, you think I can help?

"I'll help. And if you have to send me back after that, I'll go— and I'll help you anyway."

"No need to send you back," Buffy said, smiling. She stood, offered her hand to Piper, and said, "Welcome to Team Slayer, Piper Parker."

Piper winced, but gently shooed aside pseudo dragons, stood, and shook Buffy's hand as she said, "Okay, maybe I should get rid of the 'Parker' anyway. 'Piper Parker' actually sounds worse than 'Peter Parker,' and I always did kinda resent my parents for that. But… well, I have an idea, I was thinking about names because I was going to try to get a fake ID if I did rob a drug dealer.

"Piper Benjamin. What do you think?"

"Welcome to Team Slayer, Piper Benjamin," Buffy said, grinning. "Want to come outside and start meeting people? Oh, and we should have Willow look you over, she might have to do something to help you stay— something about people from parallel universes tending to gravitate back to them, but relax— Willow's the—"

"The most powerful witch ever, I know," Piper said, and smiled a little. "I'm a fan, Buffy, I saw the whole show."

Buffy blinked and shook her head. "May never get used to that, but… well, what did this show cover?"

"It started with your first day at Sunnydale High," Piper said, a little grin on her face that she tried to quell, but couldn't, quite. "It ended with you looking out over the pit where Sunnydale used to be and smiling.

"I watched it all— with my Aunt May and Uncle Ben— before he died, I mean— and MJ was there for a lot of it. Uncle Ben liked it, MJ loved it— but Aunt May bought each season as soon as it came out on DVD, and she thought you were the best thing that ever happened to TV. You were… she called you the first fully empowered girl on TV, which, from my feminist aunt? No higher praise."

"That's… kinda cool," Buffy admitted. "Now I feel bad for not reading the comics about you, though."

"No big," Piper said. She looked around at everyone and said, "Um, before we go and meet people… what happened to my costume? I might… you know, want it again, sometime."

"It's in the dirty clothes hamper in the guest room," Aunt Dawn said, then shook her head. "It's more ripped than there, though. You might do better to ask Kelly— mine and Buffy's adopted mom, sort of— to make you a new one. She's great with sewing."

"And if you want something new," I added, "I might be able to help. I can get a couple of female hero costume blanks from Thomas— family friend and frequent game master who likes to run superhero games— and we can work on one together."

"That," Piper said, blushing just a little, but smiling a lot, "sounds like a good idea. New start, new _life_— new costume."

Buffy nodded as we all started for the outside, then said, "Hey, here's an idea for you— we have body armor that we wear when things get serious and we know that things are going to be nasty. It's really flexible, doesn't interfere even with Jocelyn and Elaine, who love their Capoeira, so I'll bet it wouldn't slow you down. We can get you a suit of that and put the design for your costume on it. Tougher than spandex or Lycra, or whatever that was that your first one was made from. You'd have to go with a cloth mask, I guess, but still— what do you think?"

Piper smiled a small but really pretty smile, and said, "I think that you guys all working so hard to make me feel at home here? That's the nicest thing that's happened to me since I was… uh, well, born, you know?"

"Good." Buffy led us outside and over to where the newbies were working under Aunt Elaine's watchful eye, and she started making introductions. Pretty soon, Piper had been introduced to everyone who was home, and she insisted that everyone know who she really was— that she was Spider-woman and not from this earth, I mean. She didn't talk to the other girls about having been a guy for most of her remembered life, and I didn't really blame her for that.

But when she was introduced to Diane Hodges and heard that she was a psychologist and psychiatrist, Piper said, very slowly, "Um… look, Dr. Hodges—"

"Diane, please."

"Diane, thanks." Piper too a deep breath and said, "I… went through some things recently that— I'm sort of… could I maybe… I can't pay you, but maybe…."

"I'm on the Watcher's Council payroll," Diane said, her voice casual. "Buffy says you've joined the team, so… you won't be paying me, the Council will, and you pay them back by fighting vampires and monsters.

"Yes, we can talk. Would you like to start now?"

"Uh." Piper looked panicked for a moment, then got hold of herself and looked at Buffy. "Is that… I mean, could I talk to her for a while? Please?"

"Go for it," Buffy said. "The guys won't be back for quite a while yet, we can make introductions when you and Diane finish talking, if they're back then. I mean, we're talking mini-golf, batting cages and video games, then a movie? They might be later than they said."

"Um, Xander, and Giles and…?" Piper asked, looking a mix of interested and a little worried.

"Well, let's see…." Buffy started ticking things off on her fingers. "Dawn's husband— well, not just her husband, hers and I already explained that when introducing the girls, never mind— group husband Ballard, Jocelyn's boyfriend Colin, you'll like him, he's a superhero, too, just from a different universe than you. Whitey stayed to help train girls, so that leaves… Riley, who's Giles and Kelly's son, Whitey and Chantelle's son Stephen, Ballard and Sh'rin's son Nathaniel, Elaine's son and Erin's twin, Graham, Rose's son Michael, and I think that's it."

"Yoiks," Piper said in a respectful voice. "With all the daughters… that's a whole bunch of kids."

"Yeah, but we love them all," Buffy said, and looked pained for a moment. But then she smirked a little and added, "And the older ones make great built-in babysitters."

"Okay, well… I'll be back out in a while and hey, Diane?" When Diane tilted her head, Piper nodded at Scooby Mansion and asked, "Do you have a map, or should I be looking around for some bread crumbs?"

Diane snorted a laugh, said, "Don't worry, I've been here enough that I know the layout. I stopped needing to blaze a trail years ago."

They walked off towards Scooby Mansion— and I went back to training.

Lunch rolled around— Giles and the guys were eating out, then going to a movie— and Piper and Diane showed up, Piper a little red-eyed, but not looking sad, which I thought was pretty good. I mean— well, I'd have been so freaky that Diane might have had to have Buffy put me in a straight jacket if I woke up as a boy, remembered being a girl, couldn't see my family again, and couldn't think of a way to support myself.

Piper went to talk to Willow for a minute— about a charm to make sure she stayed here, I figured— and Diane's pseudo dragon, Endorphin, relayed a message to Ripley (and the dragons of pretty much everyone here old enough to have hit puberty and not actually married).

_*Diane say that Piper horribly confused right now,*_ Ripley told me. _*She is scared over being a girl and not knowing_ how _to be a girl, unsure about lots of things. So no one should say or do anything she might think is romantic unless she says or does something first. Diane says "Poor kid's got enough other stuff on her mind, how about you all ignore the fact that she's a very pretty girl until she can accept that she's a girl. Or else. And I'll ask Buffy to deal out the 'or else.' "*_

"Tell her I understand," I said softly. "And that I'll tell Colin and Stephen when they get home."

Ripley relayed the message, and Diane nodded and smiled my way. Then Piper came over and asked me when I thought we could work on a new costume look for her, and I invited her to sit down with me and have lunch. We ate and we talked about a costume, and she had some ideas that meshed well with some of mine.

"I have to go back to training after lunch," I said after we'd talked about it for a while. "I can email Thomas before that, ask him for the file for female hero pics, then print a couple off probably before supper, and we can fiddle with it after. I'll need a shower before supper, or we could start then."

"Excellent." Piper looked down at her plate and sighed. "My god, I ate all of that. After the soup and sandwich earlier, too."

"No big," I said, and motioned at my own plate. "I had two burgers, a bratwurst and enough French fries to scare a normal person. We Slayers eat big to fuel our metabolisms, so I'll bet you do, too."

"I guess I do eat more than I did before the powers," Piper said, nodding slowly. "Just never really thought about it. Aunt May just wrote it off as a teenager thing." She looked sad for a moment, but I didn't have time to try and jolly her out of it before Kelly strolled over and sat down next to me and across from Piper.

"Get enough to eat?" Kelly asked.

"Yes, ma'am," Piper said, nodding. "Thank you— it was great." (Kelly had cooked.)

"You're perfectly welcome," Kelly said, and smiled. "Or will be, once you stop with the 'ma'am'— Kelly, please."

"Yes, Kelly," Piper said, and smiled a little.

"Now, on the subject of food," Kelly said. "We have a long tradition of new members of the family getting a 'welcome home' dinner consisting of whatever they want. If we can't make it, we'll send out for it. So… what would you like?"

"That's really nice, but you don't have to—" Piper saw Kelly's eyes narrow, preparatory to a glare, and she reversed course. "But since it's a tradition, well… I would commit almost any misdemeanor and some of the smaller felonies for a steak. A big steak. And a baked potato, a big one, smothered in butter, salt and pepper. And corn! Corn on the cob, and a salad, and those yeasty rolls that are kind of sweet… my god, I'm drooling, this is ridiculous!"

Kelly laughed and said, "How does Delmonico steak sound? Grilled by either Whitey or Xander, I'm not sure whose turn it is?"

"That's like… a boneless rib-eye, right?" Piper asked, her voice far away and kind of dreamy. Kelly nodded, chuckling, and Piper said, "Oh, please, yes. Very yes, and however much please you need!"

"No problem, then," Kelly said, still chuckling as she stood. "Supper's about six, we'll make sure whichever cook finds you to ask about doneness."

"Medium-well…." Pip still sounded dreamy, and she swallowed in anticipation. "Yeah, still drooling— and I just ate!"

"That's okay," I said, waving as Kelly went off to do something probably Watcher's Council related. "I'm drooling too, and I finished after you did."

Piper spent the afternoon watching we Slayers train, looked puzzled but didn't ask when I went off with Daddy to study strategy, tactics and the once-known-now-lost-needed-to-be-recovered art of _not being stupid_. Tactical simulations again, and I did a little better than before. My impulse to hit first and ask questions later still hampered me, and Daddy wasn't— well, he wasn't doing it to be mean, but he deliberately pushed me, didn't give me time to think. He demanded answers _now_ when the situation would have done so. I wouldn't have had time to think in the field, so he didn't give me time to think in the simulation. That point, where I had to come up with the answer now, couldn't take time to think things through, that was where things broke down most often.

When we finished, I was again angry and upset— but Daddy didn't let me run off to be alone right away.

"Jocelyn, this is an _improvement_," Daddy said. He smiled at me, pulled me into a hug, held me until I hugged back. "Still not up to where you were before this whole thing blew up in your mind, honey-girl— but it's better. That means that you are working at this, and that the work is helping. I know, not what you want, you want it all back _now_— but it's improvement. Don't forget that, Jocelyn. Don't you _dare_ forget that."

"Thank you, Daddy," I said against his chest. I popped up on my toes to kiss his cheek then said, "Still— alone-time required. Make sure everyone knows, please?"

"You bet," Daddy said. "Although, judging from the slight shaking of the ground, I think your well-named puppy may not be content to leave you alone any more than Ripley will be."

I let go of Daddy and turned to see Richter bounding towards us, tail wagging, giant paws absorbing the shock of his huge, puppyish bounds, half-floppy ears streaming, tongue hanging out the side of his mouth— and I giggled helplessly at his exuberance.

Then he was there, paws on my belly as he tried to jump up on me, and most of my doldrums went away. "Richter, you moose," I giggled. "Come on, puppy, lets go sit in the Glade a while."

The Glade was where Royal was buried. It had assumed capital letter status in my head, and I could already hear that capital letter in other people's voices, too. I went, knowing that Daddy would pass around that I shouldn't be disturbed for a bit, loving him for that courtesy.

I sat propped against a tree where I could see Royal's tombstone, and Richter draped himself half across my lap while Ripley settled on my shoulder. With the two of them there, both loving me unconditionally, I felt better pretty fast. In half an hour or so, I knew I could be friendly and not all grumpy, so I went back to Giles's back yard, arrived just a few seconds before the rest of the guys came home.

When I got out to the group, everyone was standing in a big circle and watching Aunt Rose and Piper spar.

Holy. Freaking. Crap! I mean— look, I saw the old Spider-man movies, the Tobey Maguire and the Andrew Garfield ones, and those had some amazing fight scenes in them.

The reality was a whole lot more impressive. This wasn't a computer-generated image or a professional stuntman, it was a fifteen year-old girl (who wasn't even a _month_ old, some ways) and she was staying out of the way of my Aunt Rose, the most accomplished fighter in residence (before Buffy moved back to Normal, at least)— and Piper was making it look _easy_.

She bent out of the way of punches and kicks casually, often by bending in ways an ordinary person couldn't or that even a Slayer couldn't. She jumped completely over attacks, landed well behind Aunt Rose, waited for her to come in again, then repeated the whole process.

"Okay," Aunt Rose panted after a minute or so of that. "You can avoid me. Got it.

"Question is, can you avoid me _and_ tag me?"

"Let's find out," Piper said, grinning hugely.

A hand slid across my back, came to rest above my hip, and Colin asked, "Who's the new girl, and how the hell is she doing… all of that?"

"That's Spider-woman," I said, not taking my eyes off of the sparring for even a second. "She's a superhero from a different universe than you."

"Holy crap," Colin said softly. "That's… wow."

"Uh-huh," I said, watching as Piper tried to hit Aunt Rose— they both had on pads, so it wouldn't be bad if she did— and failed. Aunt Rose didn't dodge so much as she blocked, which Piper wasn't used to, you could tell.

Finally, Piper over-committed, tried a front kick on Rose and over-extended— and my tiny aunt dropped down under the kick, locked her ankles around Piper's leg and rolled, taking Piper down to the ground face first— and popped her very lightly in the back, where the kidney is. Not hard enough to hurt, just hard enough for a point in a sparring session.

Piper… laughed. "Oh, man!" she said around her laugh. "That'll teach me not to get cocky!

"Can I get lessons? Please?"

"Absolutely," Rose said, helping Piper to her feet. "We can also get you lessons in tumbling— you're agile as hell, but everything you do seems instinctual. With some lessons, you'll be even more scary-hard-to-hit than you are now."

"Okay," Piper said, smiling and nodding. "You can hit me, that's something some supervillains couldn't do— I'm gonna listen to you.

"What now?"

"Now I think we're done for the day— the guys are home, come on, I'll get you some introductions." Aunt Rose led Piper over to where Giles stood with his arm around Kelly, and started there.

_Smart,_ I thought. _Introduce her to Giles and Xander, the men she knows something about, first, then move on to unknown quantities, very smart, O aunt of mine_.

Which reminded me to tell Colin, "Oh, hey— I know you and I are a couple, and you aren't likely to anyway, but so you know, Diane's passed the word— no romantic _nothin'_ aimed at Piper unless she aims something at you first. Not even jokingly, I think."

"Not like I'm opposed to becoming a triad, if you still want that like you said you did my first night here," Colin said with a wiggle of the eyebrows. Then he sobered and asked, his voice low and sort of ready-to-be-angry, "She been abused? If so, by whom, and can we get to where-the-hell-ever to punish them?"

"Not the way you mean, dear man," I said, and popped up on my toes to kiss him. "It's just that… look, she's a clone of Spider-_man,_ made female by duplicating the X chromosome— and she remembers _being Spider-man, being a boy._ Fifteen years worth of that versus— well, less than three weeks of being a girl.

"She's really confused and freaked out right now, so Diane says we need to avoid doing anything to make that worse."

"Damn," Colin said softly, and shook his head. "That's— well, that she's not out of her freaking mind says good things about her. I'd probably just… I'd need a lot of time to adjust, if that happened to me. So, yeah. I understand, and I won't even joke about it."

"Don't feel bad, I'd go batshit if I got turned into a boy, I'm pretty sure," I told him. "So she gets all the space she wants, and I will remind myself not to tease her like I do every other hot female I'm not related to by blood or emotion."

Colin snickered, then kissed me— and we broke just as Aunt Rose reached us with Piper in tow.

"Okay, Piper Benjamin, AKA the spectacular Spider-woman, this is Colin Goddard," Aunt Rose said while Piper— five-four, maybe five-five— looked up at Colin. "Colin used to be the superhero Starpulse."

"Hi," Piper said, taking Colin's offered hand. She looked a little… overwhelmed, I guess, but she seemed to be mostly okay. "I hear that you can fly. I'm now officially jealous."

Nightfall, Colin's dark, purple-blue pseudo dragon friend grinned at Piper from Colin's shoulder and sent to all of us, _*I'm the luckiest pseudo dragon ever. I not have to feel guilty 'cause my poor human can't fly!_*

Piper laughed, an honest, open thing, and Diane, a few yards away, grinned hugely to hear it.

"You can dodge Rose," Colin said when Piper got hold of herself, shaking his head in amazement. "Trust me, I'm just as jealous. She beats me without even working at it every time we spar."

"But… flight!" Piper seemed to be getting kind of tense, but she managed a small smile— points for effort. "Seriously. That's the one power everyone I know dreams of having."

Aunt Rose caught the tension that Piper was feeling, and defused it pretty quickly. "Okay, Piper— Dawn wanted to talk to you about going shopping either after supper or tomorrow," she said, and tilted her head over towards where Aunt Dawn stood with Aunt Elaine, the two of them talking to Ling Han, one of the newbies who had been trained as a dancer before being Chosen.

"It was nice to meet you, Colin," Piper said. "Guess I'll see you guys both at dinner."

"Nice to have another not-Slayer-super-type around," Colin agreed, nodding. "Later, Piper."

Piper wandered off with Aunt Rose, and Colin and I started for the house. We stopped when Piper called, "Hey, Jocelyn? Got a sec?"

I sent Colin ahead, stopped and waited for Piper to catch up with me. When she did, she looked a little flustered, and she stammered for a sec before she got out what she'd come to say.

"Uh, look," she said. "I was… well, Rose and Dawn say I don't even need to— oh, hell. I was wondering if it'd be okay with you if I took your mom and dad up on their offer to let me stay with you guys. Long-term, I mean."

"My aunts were right," I said, smiling. "You didn't need to ask— but I appreciate the courtesy. Yes. It's fine. In fact, I like the idea."

"Okay," Piper said, blowing a sigh. "Sorry, but… well, your sisters and your brother were right there when Chantelle offered, but I wanted to be sure, you know?"

"Be sure," I told her. "I like the idea."

"Okay." She smiled at me a little shyly and said, "Dawn said Slayers don't sleep as much as normal people. True?"

"Very true," I agreed. "I actually sleep around five hours a night, and that after working out all day and other exercise."

"Okay, so… Dawn thought we should go shopping tonight, and she suggested after ten— Wal-mart is your friend!— so that there aren't crowds." Piper took a slow breath and said, "I'll get over my people issues— crap, no lying, Diane said I can be honest with you folks and that I need to, so I'll get over my issues with guys (especially attractive guys) eventually, but not right away. So there, that's maybe too much information, but anyway, will you come with us when she takes me shopping?"

"Sure I will," I said, filing away part of what she'd just said for contemplation, and I smirked. "I can maybe save you from Aunt Dawn's tendency to try to buy two of everything that even might look good on you. She's kind of a fashion fiend."

"Then I'm glad you're coming," Piper said. "I'm not ready to be a runway model."

"Nah, you couldn't do that without losing stupid amounts of weight," I said. "And you already need to _put on_ some weight— won't be hard, the entire part of the family that cooks can really cook, you know?"

"I'm not gonna argue," Piper said, her eyes lighting up a bit. "I mean, two meals may be all I've had, but that soup was amazing, no way it ever saw the inside of a can, and lunch… yow."

"Just wait until dinner," I said, walking beside her towards my house. "Xander could open a restaurant based on his steaks alone, and Daddy's just as good."

Piper laughed and followed me back to the house, where Mom took charge of showing her to her room while I went to shower— and thought about what she'd just inadvertently told me about at least part of her problems with her gender change.


	28. Confusion, Goodbye, Hello…

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 28: Confusion, Goodbye, Hello….

I climbed into the shower and thought about what Piper Benjamin, who'd been Peter Parker until a mad supervillain cloned him and made the clone a girl, had accidentally (I was sure) told me about at least part of her issues with the gender change that had been forced on her. Part of those issues came from the fact that Piper, through some quirk of the cloning process, remembered her life as Peter Parker— as a _boy_. That probably only made it harder for her to accept what she'd revealed to me as we'd been walking towards my house— our house, now, she was going to stay here with us.

_I'll get over my people issues,_ Piper had said to me, then, _Crap, no lying, Diane said I can be honest with you folks and that I need to, so I'll get over my issues with guys (especially attractive guys) eventually, but not right away_.

Oh. I knew a little bit about Spider-man— what American kid doesn't, and besides, there were a lot of comic fans in the family, both blood and otherwise— and so far as I knew, the character had never been presented as either gay or bisexual.

And here's poor Piper, a guy in her head— and apparently either a straight or bisexual female by virtue of biology, suddenly finding some guys attractive.

(I wondered if that was accidental or deliberate— obviously the universe where Piper had been "born" was way more advanced than mine in genetics, and I knew enough about Dr. Octopus to know that he was a serious asshole. He'd probably done it deliberately, taken some satisfaction in knowing that, even though the clone wasn't supposed to remember anything about being Peter Parker, he— Ock— had managed to seriously mess with his arch-enemy. Heck, since the clone was meant to be a CIA operative, maybe they'd even asked for her to be biologically set to be bisexual— it'd make her suited for more of the "seduce and subvert/blackmail" kind of missions, maybe…?)

Me, I've known I liked guys and girls since before it even mattered, you know? So I could only try to imagine the confusion Piper had to be feeling, and to be honest? I don't think I did a very good job with that imagining, because I'm not equipped to.

I resolved to be really careful about not making anything that might be construed as a pass at her, because honestly, I liked her— she set herself between four exceptionally nasty monsters and what she thought were a bunch of innocent civilians in the first seconds I ever saw her. Made a _really_ good first impression, you know?

I got clean, checked my email, printed out a half-dozen copies of the "blank female" costume-creation form that Thomas Dunlap let his players use to make their costumes when he ran superhero games and had sent to me, and went down to supper.

Piper sat with Colin, Mi Kyong, my sisters and I for the meal, and she did talk to Colin some— not that much, but then she didn't talk to any of us much— she was too busy actually eating— or calling her thanks and compliments to Xander and Sh'rin, the evening's cooks, every few bites.

After the meal, Piper tried to help with the clean-up, which made another good impression, but she was shooed away after being assured that she'd be put in the cleanup rotation effective the next Monday, which seemed to satisfy her. After that, she got distracted by asking about what had happened between the collapse of the Sunnydale Hellmouth and her arrival. Buffy asked how fast she read, and Piper admitted that she was a speed-reader, at which point Aunt Rose was sent to get a copy of Chosen to Stand for Piper to read. Being Aunt Rose, she made a proper gift of it, as she had with Mi Kyong, which got her a hug that looked heartfelt, if brief.

"After you've finished that," Buffy said, smiling a little, "you can ask pretty much anyone about the time between the end of the book and now. I'd advise Whitey, Vi or Sh'rin, though— they're the three least likely to play down their own roles in things."

"Okay," Piper agreed, and shook her head. "You know, I don't think you can ever get how weird it is sitting here talking to Buffy the vampire Slayer as casually as… well, as casually as sitting around talking with Gwen Stacy."

"Maybe she can't," Xander said, looking amused, "but as a comic geek who read the title you appeared in for a large part of its run? I can."

"Okay, that's… a good point." Piper shook her head and asked, "Was the artist any good?

"Wait, no— don't answer that, I don't want to know."

People broke up to go to their various houses, and before I went off with Piper to work on a new costume for her, Colin asked for some help with finishing off something he'd been slowly putting together since the night he finally told us about the alien bastards killing all those people and leaving him feeling so guilty; he'd been slowly putting together things to send to his friend Armsman, to tell him that he was okay now, and so that Armsman could pass that around.

"I have almost everything," Colin said. "But… well, you guys, you're all my family now, and I want him to… to come as close to meeting you all as he can, because Jason was like my brother.

"So… could you help me get some video of everyone? Talk them into introducing themselves, explaining who they are and what they do?"

"With great pleasure, Colin," I said, and kissed him. "Tomorrow, I'll bet we can get some action shots of everyone doing what they do, you know? Giles and the other Watchers teaching, my aunts teaching their various things, Willow doing some magic, Lydia in two-swords mode against Aunt Rose, various Slayers sparring— and pseudo dragons being perfect, mustn't forget that."

"Neat," Colin said, and kissed me. "Good idea."

"And you could send your friend copies of Aunt Elaine's dances," Mi Kyong said, smiling as she always did when so much as mentioning those. "And perhaps an electronic copy of Aunt Rose's book?"

"Oh, hell, yes!" Colin said, a grin spreading across his face. "Mi Kyong, that's _brilliant!"_

"Damn right," I said, and hugged her when he let go. "Wish I'd thought of that. Good job, Mi Kyong."

Most of the family agreed easily to introducing themselves on camera, and Colin got smart— he made sure everyone knew that he'd be adding editorial comments if they got too modest, so that if they didn't want him doing that, they had to be honest about what they did— and how well they did it.

All the kids— younger than me, I mean— ate it up, talked cheerfully to a super hero that they'd never meet. Of the grown ups, only Uncle Ballard and Giles were really shy, but we got them past it pretty easily. Giles even suggested that it might be a good idea to send along copies of that year's pre-Activation Day commercials, and a couple of training films he had in electronic media.

The next day we filmed a ton of training stuff, got copies of both of Aunt Elaine's dances, e-books of Chosen to Stand (LOTS of formats, so they'd be sure to be able to read one of them), all of the video from that year's commercials and the training videos, and put it on one computer. Colin spent the hour or so before dinner and a couple of hours after editing things together, then filmed a message to his friend and carefully boxed everything up. Once that had been done, we got Riley, Kelly and Giles's son— a talented artist— to draw the star insignia that Colin had worn on his costume on the paper, then put the sword that Armsman used for an insignia over the star.

Once that was all done, Willow took over, and she, Aunt Dawn and Aunt Sh'rin got together with Giles and Kelly (Kelly had a knack for ritual magic, to her never-ending amazement) to send the box and its contents to a place of Colin's choosing on his earth.

Ten minutes later the box vanished— and Colin let out a soft sigh. "Take care of yourself, Jason."

Then he let me take him to bed and do my level best to love him to sleep. It worked— but it took a while.

Not like I _minded_ how long it took….

_Interlude: Another Earth, Oak Park, Illinois; August 7__th__ 2018_

Jason Hudson, AKA Armsman, was sitting across from his wife having a late dinner in their kitchen when the miniature lightning storm started in his back yard.

"Yeah, okay, School Girl Rage, not the best code name I've ever heard, but the costume fits in with the name, it distracts the dumber male criminals, and her heart's in the right place," Jason said to his wife. "Add in Sense-Dep and Horizon, and I'm pretty sure that DC's in g— what the hell!?"

Lightning bolts had lit up the dim back yard, small ones, maybe three feet long, in more colors than Jason could count. They radiated from a point about four feet above the ground out under the huge old oak tree that shaded the back corner of the fenced-in yard. Jason stood and stared for a moment— and saw something rectangular fall to the ground as the lightning winked out.

"Stay here, Kate," he said as he stood. "Let me check it out."

"Yes, love," his wife said, but stood to kiss him. "Be careful. If one of the bad guys has figured out who you are…."

"I know, I'll be careful," Jason said. "Don't think so, though— why give me a warning like that? And there's something… familiar about this. Don't know what, that won't come, but familiar."

Jason went out the back door, went to the spot under the tree and saw a box, maybe eight inches by eight inches by four thick, wrapped in plain white paper, sitting on the ground under where that miniature lightning storm had come from. He edged closer, trying to remember where he'd seen that multi-colored lightning before, saw the star-and-sword drawn on the paper wrapping— and remembered the lightning storm when Colin had disappeared.

With no more thought of this being a trap, Jason scooped up the box and tore the paper off, created a small knife with his solid energy to cut the tape away, and opened the box. Right on top was a note, a note in Colin Goddard's handwriting that said, "Watch the disc in the blank case first, Jason— then go to the rest."

"Colin," Jason said softly. He grinned, wiped away tears of relief, then threw his head back and whooped, "YOU'RE ALIVE!"

He went inside, showed Kate the note— and she kissed him, hugged him and laughed in relief with him, then pulled him into the living room and sat with him after he'd put the appropriate disc in the DVD player and snuggled up to him as he pressed play.

The screen lit up with an image of Colin Goddard, hale, healthy, smiling— alive!— sitting in a comfortable-looking armchair near a set of doors that appeared to lead to a balcony.

"Hello, Jason," Colin said, smiling a little sadly. "And hello, Kate— I'm sure you're watching. And if Marie isn't off with her band, I'm sure she's there, too. Hi, Marie.

"First… I'm okay. Really, truly okay. Physically fine, mentally and emotionally… I still have some healing to do, but I'm doing it. I'm working at it, and I'm not having to go it alone. I've found friends, a family… and I'm in love. Guess I owe you an apology for my initial reaction to you three being lovers— now I understand, kind of, since the girl I'm in love with is… open about wanting a relationship like what you three have. Sorry— I wasn't in a position to understand, not then.

"So… let me tell you what happened, how I got here, and about the world I found myself in."

Before Colin could continue, a tiny dragon, a deep purple-blue color, flew into the frame and landed on his shoulder. It couldn't have been more than nine inches long from nose to tail-tip, and it looked smooth and shiny… and almost irritatingly cute.

"Ah— well, seems I'm doing this a little out of order. Jason and Kate Hudson, Marie Kovacs-Hudson, allow me to introduce my new and very dear friend, Nightfall. Nightfall's a pseudo dragon, right out of that Dungeons and Dragons game, but I'm not in a D & D world or anything.

"Let me tell you everything, then introduce you to my new family and friends— then I'll ask a favor or six, then you can watch how I'm paying for those favors…."

They watched, fascinated, as Colin explained what had happened to him, where he'd ended up, and how he'd fallen into a group of people who could and would help him, who _worked_ to help him. They "met" the people he considered his friends and family, and the girl he'd fallen in love with— as well as a veritable army of pseudo dragons.

Once they'd seen all of the new people in Colin's life and heard his tale of the things that had happened to him since he arrived on the parallel world he'd disappeared to, the video again cut to Colin and his pseudo dragon friend in the chair.

"There you have it," Colin said, grinning and stroking the little dragon (who had climbed down to rest on Colin's folded arm). "I leap from a world of super heroes to a world of _supernatural_ heroes. Seems almost like a logical step.

"But… well, I hope you understand that I'm… happy here. Happier here than I think I could be back at home, anymore. Here… here I don't have to deal with the memory of Miami so directly. It's once removed, if you get me— and that makes it so that I can get past it.

"Add in that I wouldn't leave Jocelyn for the world, or ask Nightfall to forego ever having a mate, and… this is home, now.

"Sure, it has its dangers. This Warren-bot guy and his merry band of psychos, they're a real threat, but Giles, he's brilliant at this sort of thing, and the Watchers, they're all just as good, if more specialized. And the Slayers… Jason, if you had fifty of them, you'd never have to worry about a bad guy again. These girls aren't as powerful as most heroes on our world, and they don't have the variety of powers you guys do— but they're damned good at what they do, and they're as dedicated as any of us ever were.

"So… there's two more videos like this one in the bottom of the box, labeled with my mom's and my dad's addresses. Send those on, would you? And tell everyone there that I'm okay, let them watch this if you're so inclined. I'm not asking you to show it to Sin-fire or anything, but the rest? Yeah. Please, show it to them, and the two commercial videos, too.

"Those two videos… they're the first two fully choreographed dances done in outer space on this Earth, and on ours, since it's never been done there. Watch Dance the Heavens Home first, then the other one— which is deliberately untitled, so that you get the impact we all did of seeing the title at the end of it. Then on the USB drive in the box is an electronic copy of the book that Rose wrote about the big battle that led to what's happening with us now. It's in several formats, I'm sure one or more will work for you. In fact, there's even an MP3 version of the audio book."

Colin simply sat stroking the dragon on his arm for a long moment, then looked up into the camera and said, "I'm happy here. I… I think I belong here. But that doesn't mean I don't miss you, all three of you. Jason, you were the brother I never had and always wanted, and Kate, Marie, you just… let me into your lives on Jason's say-so.

"I can't repay you guys for that. Hell, Jason, I can't repay you for the things you taught me about being a hero, let alone for being my brother in every way that counts.

"But I had to at least let you know that I'm okay. And maybe the dances and the book, those will pay you back a little bit.

"Be well. Be happy.

"I love you guys."

For a long moment, Jason Hudson simply stared at the now-blank screen. Then he kissed his wife and said, "I'm pretty eager to see those dances, dear, and I know you are, too, but… I need to go out for a little bit. Armsman-out, I mean. Then I'll come back and we'll watch them, okay?"

"All right, Jason," Kate said, standing and going to kiss him, chuckling as he stroked the barely-there swelling of her belly— she was only four months pregnant, and the swelling of her tummy might even be imaginary, but that never stopped her husband from running a loving hand over it. "Where does Armsman have to go, though?"

"I need to see Cyber Knight," Jason said as he headed upstairs for his costume.

She waited until Jason came back down in his Armsman costume, then asked, "Why do you need to see Cyber Knight, dear?"

Armsman kissed her and again stroked her belly before saying, "He's been working on a way to bring Starpulse back home— I need to tell him to stop.

"Colin's happy, Kate, that came through in every second of that video— and he deserves it. So Knight needs to stop trying to bring him back here."

Kate kissed him hard, showing her approval the best way she knew how, then said, "Hey— maybe you could suggest something else instead, Jason."

"What's that, Kate?" he asked.

"See if the kid can work up an easy, reliable method of getting messages back and forth between this world and that one— then you could at least exchange things like that video with Colin." She grinned at her husband and sprang something on him that he would never have asked for, but that she knew would make him happy. "Besides, if this baby of ours turns out to be a boy… I think that Colin deserves to know that we named it after him."

Armsman kissed his wife very urgently after that, thanked her quietly— then flew off to find Cyber Knight and make sure that he didn't try to take Colin away from a world and a lot of people that he had come to love.

_**88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888**_

_Jocelyn:_

After sending that package off to his friends and family on his home earth, Colin seemed to get more… more _focused_. He'd been taking martial arts courses with the trainees, and a couple of days after that package went out, Buffy sent him to Dad and our group, said he was ready for the advanced class. His work with Giles and the other Watchers on learning about the way the supernatural worked started going faster, and he just got _better_ faster.

Piper, too, seemed to make progress— but the real leap came later, and there was some definite help there from a source that we should have expected.

The shopping trip the night that Piper had arrived had gone well enough— but she'd been horribly embarrassed when Aunt Dawn, forgetting Piper's background, suggested that she have a couple of dresses, which she apparently wasn't ready for. Aunt Dawn realized what she'd done, apologized, and Piper got past it— but she was still a little pink when we got home.

We'd also settled on a design for her new costume that evening— she had a good eye for superhero costumes, but then, she'd come up with the original Spider-man costume, so that shouldn't have surprised me. Willow had then changed the colors of a standard suit of leather-plastic-and-metal Slayer armor magically— Spider-woman might well act independently of Team Slayer sometime, so we couldn't just order the usual armor done in the design without potentially giving away her identity. Then, as an afterthought, we got her a second set in the ordinary black-and-gray, giving her a choice as to which version to wear. She really appreciated that, and didn't hesitate to say so.

The new costume was a leather, dark red Slayer-armor suit with unusually thin-soled boots and thin gloves with the tops of the fingers missing from the gloves. A bone-white (Piper and I both liked that just-off-white color) spider centered on her torso (smaller than the original, and looking less like a freaking ribcage-thing) with the front two of its long, slender legs running up to and slightly over her shoulders, the middle four wrapping around her ribs and upper waist, going out of sight to her back, the lower pair trailing off of the abdomen and onto the upper thighs. On the back, each of the top six legs touched the outer edges of a web design, also in bone-white, that ran from the top of Piper's butt almost up to her shoulders. For a mask, a simple tie-on thing in the same deep red as the costume, or what looked like a simple tie on thing. In reality, there were some plastic build-ups built into it that made Piper's eyes appear more deeply set, her cheekbones look more prominent and wider.

When she tried it on, Piper put that suit through its paces, did acrobatics I can only _dream_ of doing, then climbed up the walls of Scooby mansion before coming back down. She had me take out the two metal strike-plates that rested over the kidneys, and after that, she had no problem moving as insanely acrobatically as always. Over then next couple of days, Daddy modified those plates with a chainmail seam at the point of her bending, and she was able to wear them and still move.

She kept working with Diane, too, saw her every other day, ending up on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays, while I continued my Monday, Wednesday and Friday schedule with Diane. Diane seemed pleased with Piper's progress— and then Piper got that help that we should have expected.

Aunt Sh'rin's pseudo dragon friend, Shimmer, had laid eggs the day after Piper arrived, a full clutch of six. The Wednesday after Piper's arrival, they hatched— and when we went to see them (I went with Piper), one of the six, a dark, slate-gray boy, seemed to think that Piper was the coolest thing since beef jerky.

When we finally left— my brother Stephen and sister Danielle were waiting their turn, so we had to go— Piper had this little smile on her face that I'd seen enough to recognize it.

"Do you think that little gray guy…?" she asked hesitantly.

"I think that it's a possibility," I agreed, and kissed the top of Ripley's head— she'd gone with us, too. "I also think that if not him? Well, Charm— Aunt Elaine's friend?— laid eggs last night.

"You're not going to have to wait too long for this particular variety of treat, I don't think, Piper."

"Cool," she said, and we went off to lunch.

In my therapy session that afternoon, Diane asked me if Piper had asked me about why I was seeing Diane, and I said that she hadn't.

"If she does, what will you tell her?" Diane asked.

"The truth," I said with a shrug. "I'm not… yes, I am. I'm a little ashamed of the way I let not being Chosen get to me, Diane, but… but the couple of times I admitted that it scares me, that it makes me worry that I'm not good enough, it's helped. I mean, I think it has. I felt better after each time."

"It's helping," Diane assured me. She gave me a grin and said, "That you know it's helping says good things.

"If she asks, do please tell her. She… she's very attached to you, Jocelyn, and I think she's a little worried about you, which, given the things she's been through? Pretty impressive."

"Uh, yeah," I said, trying to process that Piper might be worried about me. "I mean— she's got a ton of other stuff that has to be on her mind, and she's worried about me? Kinda flattered, here."

"Good enough for me," Diane said, and stood. "Okay, go do what you do— what's on your agenda now, anyway?"

"Training's done for the day, I've already had a shower," I said, waggling my eyebrows. "I think I'll go attack my boyfriend."

"Have fun," Diane chuckled, and waved as I left the room she was using as an office.

Unfortunately, Colin was playing chess with Giles (and being slaughtered, of course— only Whitey, Xander, Vincent and Aunt Dawn could give Giles a game that challenged him), so instead, I decided to walk Richter. As I was heading for the door, Piper called, "Hey, want some company? Or maybe just some extra weight on the leash?"

"Sure, come on," I agreed. "If he starts running away, there's nobody else here who can give 'plant your feet' quite the meaning that you can…."

Piper laughed, stood from the kitchen table— she'd been idly watching Mom cook— and followed me, Richter and Ripley outside. We went around the house, then I headed around the block. At first, we talked about nothing in particular, her martial arts lessons— Piper was learning Capoeira and Aunt Rose's "Hwarang Fu," and doing really well with both— and about Shimmer's babies, then Piper seemed to get a little more serious.

"Can I ask you… something personal?" she asked as we rounded the corner onto the empty side of the block opposite the one my house was on.

"I can't promise you I'll answer," I said easily, "but you can ask me anything, Piper, anytime."

"Okay, well… it's really not my business, I get that, but… I look at you next to me and you're so completely not-messed-up that I can't figure out why you're seeing Diane at all." She glanced at me, saw no storm clouds on my face, but still added, "If you don't want to answer, it's no big deal."

"No, that's… talking about it to not-professional people has helped, Piper, every time I've done it, and I like you a lot, so I'll tell you." I took a deep breath and said, "You've read Aunt Rose's book, and I know you asked Dad and Vi about all the stuff that's happened since, so you know that… well, I was born with the Slayer power."

"Yeah, I know," Piper said, and she giggled a little before saying, "I'll bet that made your 'terrible twos' a completely new level of 'terrible.' "

"To hear Mom and Dad tell it, you're now guilty of a serious understatement," I said, eliciting yet another laugh. "Thing is… I've been having issues this summer…."

I told Piper all of it, about the doubts and fears that had sprung up when I realized that I'd never actually been _Chosen_. Piper listened without interruption (we were sitting under a big tree on my front lawn when I finished), and her reaction surprised me, I admit it.

For a long moment after I finished talking, Piper simply stared at me in disbelief— then she shook her head and _laughed,_ laughed hard and long. On seeing my confusion at this response, Piper shook her head, fought her laughter off, and spoke.

"Oh, man, that's _insane!"_ Piper said, still chuckling, "I'm sorry if I've pissed you off, but I can't believe what I'm hearing, here!

"You know what I thought when I was watching you fight the Bug From Dimension X? The very first thing I thought?"

I shook my head, and Piper said, "I thought, 'holy crap, where the hell was this girl when I was fighting the Hulk?' "

I stared, and Piper smiled a little and said, "Okay, maybe that's something you shouldn't say to a friend— I wouldn't wish the Hulk on some of my enemies— but seriously, it's what I thought.

"I've seen you fight, Jocelyn Penobscot, and I'm here to tell you that that kind of ability? That knowing exactly how to use the things you can do, doing them without thinking or worrying? That translates to 'I'm pretty sure that she could take on Captain freaking America and not work up a sweat.'

"Well… okay, probably you'd work up a sweat.

"I thought you were the most completely amazing fighter I'd ever seen, and here you sit, doubting that you were really Chosen? Lady, that's just plain _crazy!_

"I've seen you in action, Jocelyn Penobscot, and you've got a gift, a… you know _exactly_ what you can do, better than anybody alive except maybe Buffy and maybe— just _maybe_— Captain America, and that makes you a force to be reckoned with.

"And yet you're wondering if you're truly meant to have the Slayer power?

"Insane I said, insane I meant, and insane I'd say in front of Nick Fury, Captain America, J. Jonah Jameson, Aunt May and… and my Uncle Ben!

"You're a Slayer, lady— and amazing on top of that. You need to learn that— and I'll help if I can."

For a long moment, I just sat and stared at Piper, my mouth hanging open— then I moved Richter off of my lap and reached out to pull Piper into a hug.

She came willingly, hugged hard, and made no indication that she wanted me to let go of her anytime soon.

"Thank you," I managed to say after maybe a minute. My voice was ragged, on the edge of tears, because… because coming from Piper, from someone who was sort of looking from the outside of everything that I'd grown up inside, that meant a metric freaking _ton_. "I can't— there's no way— thank you!"

"You don't have to thank me," Piper said, her voice a little weepy, too. "Silly human, you're my friend— and you and your family are helping me. Least I can do is offer a little bit of payback-help."

"I'm going to thank you, so you're just gonna have to deal," I said, still all weepy-voiced. "Silly human."

Piper chuckled a little, held the hug another minute or so, until I relaxed. After we'd broken the hug, she said slowly, "Um. Could I… it really helps? Telling not professional people about what's bugging you, it really helps?"

"Yeah," I said softly. "I… Aunt Dawn pushed me into a corner and pretty much refused to take no for an answer until I told her, that was the first time, and… god, did it help! Then telling Colin and Mi Kyong at the same time… more help.

"Now you, and… I feel a little better, Piper. Really, I do."

"That's a good thing on me, then," Piper said, her voice steady. Then she spoke again, her voice lower and a little unsteady. "Do you think… I mean, what's bugging me is nowhere near as bad as what's bugging you, but if talking to a friend really helps…."

"It really does," I said softly. Then I gave her a mild glare and added, "And what's bugging you, whatever it is? It's just as serious as what's on my mind, Piper Benjamin, maybe more so— to _you_.

"I'll listen if you want to talk, now, later— ten years from now. And if you don't want to, if you're sitting there thinking 'I owe Jocelyn a confidence now,' well you just stop right there— because you don't owe me anything. You helped me by listening to me, by saying… all those amazing things you said in response.

"So no talking (or _not_ talking, for that matter) because of some weird sense of obligation. Talk or don't— because you want to or don't."


	29. Issues (and Other Issues)

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 29: Issues (and Other Issues)

"I… want to talk," Piper said, blushing darkly. "It's… I feel awkward, is all, awkward and stupid and—"

"You think I don't?" I asked softly. "Piper, everyone around me says that I'm imagining things, that I was Chosen as much as anyone else who has the power, more than most— and I can't make myself see it that way. I feel like an absolute basket case sometimes.

"I'm not. Neither are you. We're people with problems— which means we're pretty much people."

Piper was quiet for a long moment, and I took advantage of that to ask Ripley to relay to Tracer a message for Mom.

_Tell Mom not to have anyone call us for supper,_ I told Ripley mentally. _We'll eat when we come in— Piper needs to talk, and it may take a while_.

A moment later, Ripley sent back, _*Your mom says okay, and to take as long as is needed._*

"It's… honestly, Jocelyn, I'm… kind of ashamed about how much this is bothering me," Piper said, her voice only barely above a whisper. "I shouldn't be… it shouldn't bug me. I shouldn't be upset over this. I mean— not like I am. It shouldn't make me shaky and scared and leave me feeling like I'd like to run away just because— because I find some guys sexually attractive and don't know how to express that attraction without making a total can of _Cheez Whiz_ out of myself."

She wasn't looking at me, but still she blushed deeply when she said this, and she'd sort of pulled in on herself, wrapped her arms around her own knees and put her chin on them.

"Maybe it shouldn't," I said slowly, "but then, maybe you're asking way, _way_ too much of yourself, Piper."

She turned her head my way and said, "Huh?"

"Look," I said slowly, trying to figure out the best way to ask her what needed to be asked without upsetting or insulting her. "The big thing that you need to ask yourself is why it bothers you, Piper. Is it… well, are you losing the ability to speak coherently because they're guys and that makes you feel gay and ashamed of that?"

Piper did me the courtesy of thinking before she answered, then said, "No, it's not— no. My aunt and uncle, they raised me better than that. And when some guys were… ragging me once, calling me gay— I was thirteen or so… it bugged me, then, way more than it should have, you know? Aunt May and Uncle been did like your Aunt Dawn, pretty much backed me into a corner until I told them why I was so upset. After I told them what had happened, they asked me if I was gay, if that was why it bothered me, and they made sure that I knew that if I was gay or bi, or— well, whatever, asexual, hypersexual, gay, bi, straight, anything— they made sure that I knew I didn't have to be ashamed of it, that I _shouldn't_ be ashamed of it, and I'm not, that's not the problem.

"It's just… Jocelyn, I was never any good at talking to girls when I was interested in them, but I learned to, sort of. I mean— MJ practically dragged me into the world of dating and romance and then I found out that I could talk to girls and not… you know, not make a total herb of myself. Not all the time anyway, I mean— I managed to talk to a couple of different girls and be… well, not a complete idiot.

"Then… well, I don't have any memories past that, not of being Peter. I know that Peter dated Kitty Pryde, but I don't remember that, not at all. If I— _he_— dated or even flirted with anyone else, I don't know it.

"And now… Jocelyn, I have to… I have to get used to the idea that I'm bisexual after being pretty sure I was straight my whole life (bisexual now because oh my GOD, it's not just the guys, it's killing me to be around this many gorgeous girls!) and I have to learn to talk to both sexes or genders or whatever the right word is, all over again! The things I want to say to start a conversation or to flirt a little— I don't know if they'd sound weird to a girl _coming from another girl!_

"And to talk to a guy who— no, no, not gonna half-measure it, dammit! Diane said if I talk about it to be honest, so I will, and I just have to hope I don't piss you off.

"Talking to Ballard is kind of hard, because oh, wow, something about him flips all my switches to 'on.' Only reason I can talk to him is because he's married— seriously, mondo, mega-married, even, I think that helps. Your dad's a hunk, though you probably don't want to hear that, but he's also more married than average.

"But Jocelyn, talking to Colin… he flips all those switches that I was talking about to 'overload,' not just 'on.' I can barely manage to talk to him because he makes me half _crazy_ with wanting to see if the things that— that MJ did for me when I was Peter (we never went past some heavy petting, but holy crap that was _so_ much better when she did it for me than it ever was when I… you know, masturbated), that felt so good I could barely keep from passing out, I want to see if they make Colin feel that good, and at the same time I want to see if the things I did for MJ make _you_ feel that good, or Berachah, or— or most of the girls and women who freaking live here, but mostly _you!_

"I want sex so bad I can taste it, it's— Jocelyn, it's worse than when I was a guy, and sometimes I used to go out and fight supervillains (or at least swing around and _look_ for a supervillain to fight) because I couldn't get my mind off of MJ, or Gwen, or Liz Allan, the Wasp, the Black Cat, even that complete _psycho_ Elektra, for the love of sanity!

"And now? Now I can barely think about anything else, and I don't want to do something wrong and upset someone or freak them out or— or freak me out because I freaked them out and I can't— I don't know what to do!

"And despite all this, despite knowing that there's nothing wrong with being gay or bi or what-the-hell-ever I am, it still feels weird as hell to be attracted to guys. Not bad, not shameful, just… 'holy crap, where's that coming from?' You know? It… takes me completely by surprise still, and that makes me feel even more awkward and geeky, makes me stop and examine the awkward and geeky because I don't want to be the sort of asshole who has problems with their own feelings, who thinks there's anything shameful about being attracted to anybody, caring about anybody. I don't want to be like that, I'm pretty sure I'm not like that, but I still keep stopping to check, and that makes everything more awkward and me more insane!"

I very, very carefully didn't touch Piper right then, much as part of me wanted to just grab her and kiss her and let loose my libido and hers— but that was a bad idea on a lot of levels (it could mess her up, it could mess me up by messing her up, and most of all, it could mess me and Colin and what we had up) and I knew that, so I didn't do it.

But oh, damn, I wanted to! Piper… gorgeous in so many ways, and I felt bad because she was hurting, and I cared a lot about her, even loved her… but this was not the time or the way, and I was aware of that, despite my age. (I'm going to guess it was a mix of good parenting and having my own issues at the time, even though my issues weren't at all sexual in nature.)

"Okay, first things first," I said slowly, trying to do things in the right order. "I'm not mad— not even irked— that Colin makes you crazy. I'm more impressed with your taste than anything else, Piper. And that I make you crazy…? Flattered, because you are the sexiest woman around here."

Piper had put her chin back on her knees after she finished talking— and now she lifted it and looked around at me so fast it was almost funny.

"Yeah," I said, nodding. "I'm bi, Piper. My first three lovers were all girls. Still want the girls, me, and if you don't know you're sexy, I need to make sure that Diane knows you don't know so she can help you with that particular kind of being _completely insane_.

"You haven't said anything that makes me think any less of you, feel any differently about you. You're still my friend, still someone I want to help, still… well, still sexy, too.

"I don't know what you're feeling, Piper, I don't think I really can, any more than you can know exactly what I'm feeling. But I can tell you that I don't think that there's anything _wrong_ with what you're feeling. I doubt that I'd be in anything like the relatively good shape that you're in if what happened to you happened to me.

"So… stop beating yourself up for being confused and scared, okay? I know from experience that beating yourself up for something makes it harder to get past the something. I had to learn it, but Diane helped."

"You were beating yourself up over not feeling like you were Chosen?" Piper asked, staring at me. I nodded, and she unwrapped her arms from around her knees so she could throw them up in the air as she said, "Are you _nuts!?_ That's just insane, because you don't have anything to be beating yourself up over! You can't help what you're feeling, can't help it any more than you can avoid thinking about a green hippo if someone tells you not to think of a green hippo, and… and… oh."

"Yeah," I agreed, and reached over to take her hand. " 'Oh.'

"Gotcha, Piper."

"You… yeah." She actually laughed. "Man, that's… Aunt May would laugh for ten minutes at how easily you walked me into that one."

We sat there for a moment, holding hands, smiling, and just… being friends. Ripley plainly approved, as she kept flitting back and forth from my shoulder to Piper's, rubbing her head against our cheeks and burbling, then going to the other one of us and repeating the process. Richter expressed his own approval by laying across both our laps.

Finally, Piper sighed. "I'm hungry. Did we miss the supper call, or was that a courtesy not-call?

"Courtesy not-call," I agreed. I moved Richter off of our laps, stood and pulled her to her feet with me. "I'm hungry too, let's go see if they saved us anything."

We walked slowly towards the house, and about halfway there, Piper said in this carefully-casual voice, "So… you're bisexual. Any chance that you and Colin are looking for something like what your Mom, Dad and Gwen have?"

"Yes," I said, deliberately not looking at her. "Not hurrying, not so much 'looking for' as 'hoping for,' but… well, that's very much what I want, and Colin… he's not at all opposed to the idea, between being a male and seeing Uncle Ballard and Company and my folks and Gwen. Being male, the idea turns him on, and being around my family shows him that it can work."

"Oh." Piper spoke very softly, kept hold of my hand, and said, very, very slowly, "So if I can get some of my head-stuff straightened out, I could… maybe go out on a date or… I don't know, just for a walk or out to a movie with you two or something?"

"I think Colin would love that idea," I said. I squeezed her hand gently as I told her, "I know I would.

"But no hurrying, okay?"

"No hurrying," Piper agreed. Then she sighed deeply and said, "Thanks, Jocelyn. You're right— talking about it did make me feel better."

"You're welcome," I said easily as we went into Scooby Mansion through the kitchen. I took Richter off the leash (he had free run here, as well as at home), and we went into the dining room. Dinner hadn't progressed very far, we were only maybe ten minutes late. No one said anything, they just passed us the food, which was nice of… well, all of them.

When Colin and I went to bed that night, I said nothing about what Piper had said, because saying anything about it would probably let Colin work out the whole problem she was having. So I didn't even ask if he was still interested in looking for another girl to be a part of our relationship— even though that was pretty heavily on my mind.

The week went pretty quietly— until Sunday morning, when we all got pretty merry— and some of us had a hard time stopping laughing.

Shimmer's babies had started flying the day before, and they were starting to wander off by themselves, hang out with that year's crop of new Slayers some— most of them bonded with one of those girls. But, true to her hopes (and mine and most everyone in my family's, I think), the little slate-gray boy that had been fond of Piper since their first meeting made his decision after breakfast.

The little guy had been sitting in front of Piper's plate, and when she got up to rinse it after she finished breakfast, he flapped up and landed on her shoulder. When she came back and sat down again, he immediately head-bumped her cheek. Piper turned her head, met his eyes for a moment— then busted out laughing, held her hand up for the little guy to move onto, and held him in front of her face while she laugh-gasped, "Oh, yes— yes, that would be wonderful, thanks!" Then she kissed the baby dragon's nose, flopped back in her chair— and howled with laughter as she cradled the dragon and he settled against her stomach and looked pleased with himself.

"What?" I asked after a moment. "Come on, Piper, share!"

She tried, but the laughter was still too strong. It took several more people asking (and Buffy threatening to tickle her if she didn't stop laughing, which, counter-intuitive, but it worked) before Piper finally managed to explain.

"This little guy, here," she said, pointing at her new dragon friend with the hand that wasn't supporting him, "tells me that he— he wants to be my _sidekick,_ and— and that his name is _Hulk!"_

Everyone there new enough about comics to understand why Piper was laughing so hard— even Giles— and we all laughed with her for a few minutes. Aunt Rose and Xander were literally crying from laughing so hard before they were through, and Uncle Ballard was lying on the floor, rocking from side to side and laughing.

Having a pseudo dragon friend helped Piper a lot— I didn't need Diane's little smiles when she looked at the two of them sometimes to know that. Losing Royal had really messed me up more than I already had been, and finally getting past my own stupid about that and letting Ripley into my head and heart? It had helped more than I know how to say, helped with losing Royal, with my doubts about being Chosen, with my shame over those doubts, all of it.

So the next Tuesday afternoon when Piper came out of her session with Diane, wandered over to the training session that was going on, stood next to me and watched as Colin sparred with Berachah (and lost), she didn't much try to hide that she liked looking at him shirtless.

When they finished, Colin came over and I started to hand him his shirt, Piper said, "Are you nuts? Keep the shirt, Jocelyn, keep it!"

Colin blinked in momentary surprise, then looked Piper in the eyes and raised one eyebrow.

Piper blushed scarlet— but she met his eyes and said, "Hey, I like the view— I'm only human, you know!"

"In that case, thank you, ma'am," Colin drawled in a relaxed tone. He then snatched the shirt out of my hand— but just draped it over one shoulder.

"Hmm." Piper sighed, then said, "Now, how do we get _Jocelyn_ to go topless…?"

She blushed _purple_ when we both looked at her in surprise— but she didn't flee, just turned to watch Berachah spar Aunt Elaine with more focus than usual.

At bedtime, Colin and I didn't make love, but just lay in his bed snuggling, our pseudo dragons on his stomach and my hip respectively. After a few minutes, he said in a too-casual voice, "So, Piper seems to be, uh… adjusting to her situation."

"Seems like," I agreed. "Points to Diane— and to Piper's 'sidekick,' of course."

Colin chuckled— a very nice thing to feel when your head's resting on someone's chest— and said, "Yeah. 'Hulk smash psychological blocks!' Or something."

"Still makes me giggle, him being her sidekick, and deciding his name was Hulk," I said. "But yeah, plainly, he's helping her. Which shouldn't surprise either of us."

"No, it shouldn't." He ran a finger over Nightfall's head, and she looked up and grinned at him. "Still… I find myself wondering… uh. I mean, she's… look, I don't know if it's rude to ask or not, so if it is, please—"

"Yes," I chuckled. I looked up to see him looking at me kind of hopefully. "Yes, Colin. Still hoping to find a girl we can be a threesome with, someday. Also yes, I wouldn't mind at all if it was with Piper. She's gorgeous, she's gutsy, and she… well, she's tried to help me with my own head-monkeys."

"So, uh… flirting back…?"

"Should be okay, but… well, I think we should both try to keep it, you know, low-key?" I thought for a moment, then said, "Well, lower key than anything she does, at least at first? Maybe… she and I talked some, Colin, first about my Chosen problems, then about the things going on with her. It was… she never said it was confidential, but I feel like it was, like she deserves that courtesy from me, you know?"

"I agree, and I approve," Colin said, nodding. "However, I sense a small 'however' coming…."

I chuckled at his wordplay, nodded against his chest, and said, "I know that she's attracted to both of us, Colin— but I also know that… well, even if she feels differently, I think it'd be a really bad idea to go forward any sort of fast, Colin— and she may feel differently."

"Okay," Colin agreed. "Slow works. I mean, sure, I've seen this before, but never thought about it in terms of my own life until I met you." I looked up at Colin questioningly, and he said, "Oh, right. I never got around to mentioning it to you, and you didn't read the comics. Armsman and his wife have a wife— not legally, but the three of them consider themselves married. They'd been together four years when I met them, and show no signs of ever breaking up."

"Good," I said, and put my head back on Colin's chest. "Because I do want to… well, try things with Piper, if she stays interested, which I think she will.

"But no rushing things. No hurrying.

"Dammit."

Colin chuckled again, then turned out the lights, and we and our dragon friends fell asleep pretty quickly.

Things progressed a little that week. Piper flirted with Colin and I both— usually when he and I were together, but a little with each of us individually— and we flirted back, careful to keep it light. Wednesday night, Xander got the latest superhero movie in the mail, and we all sat in the living room of Scooby Mansion to watch the Justice Society of America: Lightning Strikes together.

I sat down with Colin on a couch— and Piper sat down on my other side, close enough to make it plain that she was… interested. After a few minutes, I put the arm not around Colin's waist around hers, and she sighed happily and moved closer, leaned against me a bit.

The family noticed, of course— Mom and Dad both shot the three of us some approving looks, my various aunts all looked pleased, and my sister Belinda gave me a big, sunny smile that said she liked the idea of Piper being a part of what Colin and I had. Xander kept glancing our way and grinning— and so did Buffy.

Diane looked at us, smiled a little— and looked kind of satisfied. I took that to mean that she felt Piper was ready for the amount of affection she was showing, and relaxed.

After a bit, Xander paused the movie for everyone to hit the bathrooms and refill snacks and drinks, and I got back to the couch after Piper and Colin. Instead of sitting between them, as Piper had deliberately left me space to do, I nudged her and said, "Your turn for the middle, scoot over."

Piper looked surprised, and she blushed just a little— but she moved over, and when Colin draped an arm across her shoulders, she made a little sighing sound that was… well, it actually sounded like a sigh of _relief_. Then I sat on her other side, put an arm around her waist and leaned into her just a little, and we three stayed that way until the movie ended.

Wasn't until the movie ended that I noticed something else kind of cool— Mi Kyong was sitting in a big overstuffed armchair— which she was sharing with Riley Giles, Kelly and Giles's son who was… really close to her age, maybe just a month or so older. They had their arms around each other, and both looked absurdly content. Good on them!

Colin and I both got some… extended hugs from Piper at bedtime that night, and we both noticed (I asked him, after) that she was, shall we say, exhibiting signs of physical excitement when she hugged us. (And if I'm going to be honest, my nipples were just as hard as hers.)

That following Friday and Saturday was Twin City Summerfest, the last big celebration of the summer here in the Twin Cities. (And, truth be known, deliberately held the week _before_ Illinois State University in Normal and Illinois Wesleyan University in Bloomington, the two four-year colleges in the Twin Cities, came back into session.) Friday would be a concert with local rock groups in Miller Park in Bloomington, while Fairview Park in Normal had a concert with local country and western groups, then on Saturday they swapped genres and didn't insist on local talent. Colin and I were planning on going to both sets of rock groups in the two towns. Thursday afternoon, he made a suggestion that I liked. A lot.

"Hey, Jocelyn," Colin said as strolled to my house for some snuggling before dinner, "if you don't think it's too soon… why don't we see if Piper wants to come to Summerfest with us? It'd be… well, big public concert, pretty well lit, I imagine, so maybe a little less pressure than something more intimate, like a dark movie theater?"

"Ooo, I think I like that." I bounced up and kissed him on the cheek. "You go on ahead, I'm going to ask Diane her opinion— she's the expert."

I caught Diane at the back door of Scooby Mansion, and said, "Diane, do you think Piper's… adjusted enough, I guess, that Colin and I could ask her to go to Summerfest with us the next couple of nights?"

Diane looked thoughtful, then said, "Conditional 'yes,' Jocelyn. Piper's accepting what's happened to her and what it means to her so much faster since she got her 'sidekick' that if I didn't have experience with the phenomenon myself—" She paused to scratch her pseudo dragon's chin. "—I'd be worried that it was false progress. As it is… I think it would be good for her.

"However, I'm going to ask you to… try to control the speed at which the relationship, if you develop one, occurs, Jocelyn. Piper… uh, apparently, the female form is much, much more sensitive than the male form, sexually. She's… maybe a little too eager to experience the differences firsthand to be able to be reliably self-controlled. Think you can handle that?"

"I think we can," I said, meeting her eyes. "We talked, last week, and I… I don't understand what she's going through, I think that this is maybe a unique problem and that I probably can't understand, but I do get that it's got to be confusing— and that maybe she needs people who care about her to help her get through it, even if that means telling her no about some stuff."

Diane looked at me closely for a long moment, long enough that I started blushing a little before she said, "Why the hell can't you be this aware when it comes to your own problems, young lady?"

"Because they're _my_ problems." I stuck my tongue out at her briefly, and she laughed. "Besides, if everyone was good at dealing with their own problems? You'd be out of a job.

"Thanks, Diane."

"Thanks for asking. Go on, have a good time— but not too good!"

So I caught up with Colin as he climbed into the shower in his room, joined him, and said, "We have Diane's approval— but she did ask me to be kind of careful about the speed that we let things go places, if they start to go places." Colin made an interrogative noise (I was scrubbing his back by then) and I explained. "She's… uh, apparently, the male body isn't as sensitive sexually as the female body is, and Piper's… really aware of that. And aware from her days as a guy that someone else doing things to you feels better than doing them to yourself…."

"Oh." Colin seemed to think for a moment, then added, "Wow. Seriously, Piper says women are more sensitive than men?"

"Yes," I said. I turned around as Colin turned to rinse, so that he could scrub my back. "And since she's probably the only person were ever going to meet who's gone through a change this thorough? I think we're going to have to take her word on that."

"Uh, yeah." Colin sounded a little distracted, though he worked a scrubbie over my back with his usual dexterity. "Okay, so… shall we ask her after dinner?"

"If we can catch her alone, sure," I said. "After all, Colin, she might be even more susceptible to blushing than usual if we ask her around other people. Wouldn't want her to have a stroke from blushing or anything…."

Colin chuckled and agreed with me. Fortunately, we got an easy shot at it— after supper (eaten at our house that night), Piper went out on the back porch to sit with Hulk and Abe, and took a book with her. No one else seemed inclined to go out— it was still hot out, but Piper said that it never felt as hot to her here as it had in New York City— so after a few minutes, Colin and I went outside, found Piper reading to Hulk (pseudo dragons generally love being read to) and waited until she finished her chapter before Colin spoke.

"Hey, Hulk, mind if we interrupt for a couple of minutes?" Colin asked, and Hulk, who'd been perched on Piper's shoulder, grinned pseudo dragon style and shook his head. "Thanks, we'll keep it short— we're both readers, too.

"Piper… Jocelyn and I are going to Summerfest the next couple of night— both rock concerts, the one in Bloomington tomorrow night, the one in Normal on Saturday night. We were hoping you'd like to go with us, maybe? Both nights?"

Piper blushed, but not super-dark, and opened her mouth— then blushed more as no words came out. Hulk rolled his eyes and nudged her jaw with his head, and she managed to speak.

"I'd like that," Piper said, her blush actually dimming a little. She took a long, slow breath, then said, "Actually, I'd love it. I mean… look, so there's not any, you know, confusion, are we… is this… like a date?"

"Just like one." I grinned a little at the look of sheer relief on Piper's face and added, "Casual clothes, though. I'm doing jeans-and-a-blouse, and I'm betting Colin goes for jeans and a polo."

"I might go whole hog, button-down sports shirt." Colin rolled his eyes. "But probably just the polo, yeah."

"Uh, okay." Piper took a super-slow breath, her blush faded even more, and she managed, "Thank you. Both. Lots.

"Um, dragons? Can Hulk tag along?"

"Absolutely," I said. "Miller Park is completely dragon-friendly, even in the pavilion, the zoo— everywhere. And Fairview in Normal doesn't have any buildings but bathrooms, so no problems there."

"The noise?" Piper asked.

"Pseudo dragons have no problem with loud music," I assured her. Then I thought for a second and corrected myself. "Oops, not quite right— they don't have a problem with loud music if their human companions don't. Bookmark can't stand concert-level-loud, but then, neither can Giles, so no surprise. Same for Mouse and Vincent."

Piper chuckled and nodded. "Funny, being as how Giles was Mr. Sixties-and-Seventies-Rock-Guy. You'd think he'd have a higher tolerance for loud music."

"You would, wouldn't you?" Colin mused. "Well— anyway, we're going to leave right after supper both nights. Whitey's driving us to Miller Park tomorrow night, picking us up after. Vincent's going to drive Saturday. Vi's going with us Saturday night— Vincent can't handle live music, with his exceptional hearing, but Vi knows some people in one of the bands Saturday, so is going to go."

"You've got to get a driver's license, dear man," I said with an exaggerated sigh.

"Well, you know, first I need to have legit ID at all," Colin pointed out. "Hasn't been a lot of need for that, what with all the girls being here with parental permission, or without parents at all, this year."

(Before the big revelation of the truth of the supernatural in 2003, some of the girls who'd gone to school here, some of the first class [including my Mom] had had to have fake ID and faked guardianship papers for one of the adults. Even in the last couple of years, we'd had to use fake ID and papers— one girl who had gotten here on her own from Mexico had been being abused by her father and older brother. We simply got fake ID and papers for her— and sent a covert team of Slayers down to get video of the two human slugs trying very hard to force their attentions on a couple of their neighbor girls. After they had the video, the team beat the flying shit out of the two men— then called the cops and left the video for them to find. Those two are in prison in Mexico for life, and somehow, no one ever put out feelers to try to find the super-powered, super-trained girls and young women who beat them down. Team Slayer may not always play legal, but we play for the good guys!)

"Details," I said, waving a hand airily. Then I smiled at Piper. "Okay, we'll let you go back to reading before Hulk decides to get irritated. No one likes an irritated Hulk!"

Piper's laughter followed us as we headed inside, and she resumed reading to her dragon pal before we cleared the back door.


	30. And I Turn the Corner in Istanbul…

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 30: And I Turn the Corner in Istanbul….

Training the next day went… a little better for me. I learned all the martial arts Dad taught me quickly and easily, beat everyone in the class in one-on-one sparring, and held my own against nearly every pair from the advanced class. Only Berachah and Samantha together managed to take me down, I ate all other pairs alive.

Then in Dad's tactical simulations, I came out ahead for the first time. Like always, he read me ten different situation briefings from past watcher journals, edited down and sometimes modified for modern days, then had me tell him what I'd do in stages. The first time we'd done this, I'd failed six times out of ten. The other times, I bounced back and forth between five and six failures.

That day, I got six _wins_. Clear, put-the-monster-down-and-no-one-got-hurt _wins_.

"That's better," Dad said, giving me a grin and a super-hug. "See? You've still got the stuff, kiddo, and you're getting back the confidence it takes to use it. And to be honest (and maybe piss you off), I'd rather see it come slowly like this Jocelyn— because that makes it less likely that you'll ever have this happen again once we've got you up to snuff. A sudden snap-back, that would leave me wondering if you'd revert if something else happened. Slow, steady progress back to your usual self? Leaves me confident."

"I'm not pissed, Daddy," I said. I wormed still closer to him, sighed contentedly, and said, "I think you're right. It's better this way. Short of actually getting Chosen, which can't actually happen, I can't learn this like I need to any other way."

"That's my honey-girl," Daddy said against my hair. "Knew you were smart.

"How are things going with Diane, sweetheart? If I may ask?"

"I don't know, honestly," I said. I leaned back a little and looked up at him. "You can ask her, tell her I said it's okay to tell you— tell her Goofy said she could tell you, she'll know you got it straight from me that way. I just… can't judge it myself. She says I'm improving, but it… doesn't really feel like it."

"I'll trust the professional, I think," Daddy said. He kissed my forehead and said, "And the evidence. You're getting better, Jocelyn. I see it. That's your Watcher talking, as much as your father."

"Thanks, Daddy," I said. I looked around, waved Ripley over, and once she'd installed herself on my shoulder, I said, "Lydia says that Tamara is picking up saber as fast as me— and I see them fencing. I'm going to go watch until it's time to go to my session with Diane."

Daddy blinked at me in surprise— then grinned, slipped an arm around my waist and said, "Let's go— I love a good fencing match."

I walked over to the ring of people around Tamara and Lydia with a smile on my face— I knew why Daddy had been surprised, and I liked that he noticed that, for the first time since we'd started the tactical sims, I didn't feel the need to go off by myself for a while after we finished before being fit for human company.

We watched Tamara and Lydia fence, then, when Lydia got tired (not being a Slayer), I volunteered to fence Tamara for a while, had a great time doing so. She really was a natural, and progressing fast.

I went to talk with Diane after, told her that if Daddy asked, she could tell him anything, and then went to work on getting my head on straight. No huge leap or anything, but I felt like maybe it was working. Getting things right on the majority of the simulations, that had me looking at all sorts of things a little more… a little more like the old me. I could _see_ progress back towards the skill level I'd had before I got all messed up over not having been Chosen, and that made me able to look for (and see) progress in other areas, too.

I felt better. Not ready to resume my old ways, not even _close_ to ready— but better.

After dinner, before we left for the evening, Daddy asked to speak to the three of us, and I saw Piper start to blush, Colin with her— and chuckled. I didn't know what Daddy wanted, but it wouldn't be about sex or relationships, he trusted me on that much, still.

As we stood at the van where he'd asked us to meet him, Dad said, "Okay, I know that you guys are going out for a little fun, but… you're all on Team Slayer, so I'm hoping that I don't have to tell you to go armed."

"Can't take away my webs," Piper said. "I grabbed a pair of escrima sticks and a couple of stakes, as well. Well, no— more like a dozen stakes. They're not bulky, so I grabbed plenty."

"Good," Dad said. "Jocelyn?"

I hefted my backpack and said, "Half a dozen crazy-discs, two more explosive crazy-discs, a short sword and half a dozen stakes, half a dozen throwing knives, and a START-made, Slayer-tough slingshot with a dozen each of wooden, silver and steel balls for it."

"Okay, that ought to hold you," Dad chuckled. He looked at Colin and raised an eyebrow. "How about you, son?"

"A pair of stakes, a combat knife and a short sword, just in case my energy reserves get low," Colin said.

Dad gave Colin a look that almost _dripped_ approval and a respectful nod. "And I didn't even have to tell you to arm up in case your energy dropped low. Good man."

"You'll never have to tell me that, sir, not even after Willow says that there's not any danger of me snapping back to my original universe if I run dry," Colin said. "Jason— Armsman— taught me to always be prepared."

"I really wish he'd rated a comic of his own," Dad groused. "I liked what I saw of him in your comic, and the more I hear about him, the more I like.

"Hmm. Maybe I could get Wil to set up a viewing spell to watch him, buy the rights from the estate of the guy who wrote your book and… no, silly idea. Damn it."

"That reminds me," I said, thinking of Piper's first day here and something that Buffy had said to her. "Piper, did Willow ever make you something to help you… well, stay here, not snap back to your own universe?"

"Nope," Piper said, grinning. "She checked it out, and said she didn't need to— apparently, there's nothing trying to pull me back there.

"I'm guessing, between that and Xander saying that I never appeared in the comics after I left Peter the night we squeezed all the ink out of Doc Ock, that I was pretty much _meant_ to be here. Which I like more than just a little."

"Me, too!" Colin and I said in perfect synch.

Dad chuckled, making us all blush, then drove us to Miller Park, dropped us off, and said to call him when the last group went off stage, then start walking, and he'd meet us however far from the park we got before he saw us— that would make it a lot easier to dodge the inevitably-insane-post-concert traffic.

"Okay, you kids have a good time— but watch your backs," he said, and drove off.

That night turned out to be pretty wonderful. Piper looked a little shy at first, walking between Colin and I, each of us holding one of her hands— but the shy didn't last long. Well, not when no one paid no special attention to us, anyway. The few times people stared (or wolf-whistled, or said [as one sixteen or seventeen year-old ape-boy _actually did]_) "hubba-hubba, threesome alert," she blushed— most brightly with the ape-boy. But she recovered quickly when Colin snarked the little punk out.

"Too bad no one's ever going to say that to you," Colin called. He looked the kid up and down slowly, then added, "Actually, no one's even likely to say 'twosome alert' while looking at you."

The kid blushed much darker than Piper had, clenched his fists and took a couple of steps towards Colin— who didn't so much as lift an eyebrow at the punk in derision. No, Colin just _laughed_. _Quietly_, which I think made it worse than a belly laugh. Ape-boy slunk off into crowd, many of whom grinned our way.

We found a good place to sit, out maybe thirty yards from the stage and nearly centered on it, spread a blanket, and all sat down, Piper between us and back a little, Colin and I turned towards each other so that we could all see each other. For a while, we just… talked about stuff. Piper asked if there was anyone like her— powers-wise— on Colin's world, and he told her that the closest was probably Shadow Dragon.

"He doesn't have webs or stick to walls," Colin said, smiling a little, "but he's almost as agile as you, and he's even more of a smartass than you, Xander says— I haven't read anything with you in it, but according to Xander, you were your universe's master of the verbal zinger."

"And this Shadow Dragon was a bigger smartass? Where are the comics about you again, I have to read this!" Piper grinned and shook her head. "You know, Daredevil and Moon Knight both gave me— Peter-me— crap about my patter. But I still think it's most of why I was able to put the Kingpin down. He was so pissed about the fat jokes that he stopped fighting smart, and I won."

She told us the story of her first set of encounters with the Kingpin, and that took us up to the first of the performers. Once the bands started… well, any leftover awkward seemed to fade away, for most of the evening, at least.

Here's something cool about going out as a trio that's also three pairs (which we were all smart enough to realize that we needed to be if this was going to work at all): When two of you are dancing, there's a third to make sure no one steals your stuff, your blanket, or your spot in a crowded park.

Colin and I danced together, and we each danced with Piper. She had no dance training save what she'd had since arriving here and joining Team Slayer, but her agility, ability to copy what she saw (which was at least partly connected to that amazing agility) and the fact that she had a sense of rhythm made that really hard to figure out. She danced as almost as well as I did, and better than Colin.

When the last band started their last song, a slow number pretty much made to snuggle-dance to, we three stood right next to our stuff and danced as a trio— and that felt… more than just right. It felt _perfect_. And I could tell that I wasn't the only one thinking that— all three of us felt good about it, and our pseudo dragon friends, flying an intricate, dance-like pattern over our heads, made it plain that they agreed.

Then the song ended, and we three stood together in a very small triangle for a moment before Piper spoke, her voice… calm, but only by design, if that makes any sense? She was being calm on purpose, making herself sound calm.

"I want to kiss both of you," she said, her voice quiet, but no whisper. "But so help me… _I can't decide who to start with!_ Would one of you please figure something out— before I pretty much explode?"

Before I could do or say anything, Colin said, "Ladies first, Jocelyn."

I wasn't about to argue with him— I wanted to kiss her too much to even think of that. Instead, I turned completely to her, only to find her arms coming up to settle lightly around my neck. I slipped my own arms around her waist, smiled at her— we were almost exactly the same height— and kissed her. I was gentle about it— and so was Piper.

But gentle or no, that was maybe the most intense first kiss of my life— and given how suddenly and completely she melted up against me, I think it was maybe that intense for her, too.

No tongues, lips only slightly parted, no clutch-and-moan— but still, that kissed flipped all of my switched to overload, as Piper liked to say. I could feel her body responding the same way mine was, feel the flush of desire in her face, feel her nipples— already hard, like mine— tighten even more, like mine. We barely moved our heads, only adjusted the tilt to increase the depth of the kiss, and didn't counter-move, but moved in synch.

Maybe thirty seconds, it lasted— but it felt like it went on for _days_. And like it ended way, _way_ too soon.

Then it was over, and Piper simply turned it into a hug— and started trembling gently, not in fear or desire, but just… reaction. Maybe relief, given what she said against my ear.

"What do you know," Piper almost gasped, "I didn't screw that up, or trip, or bite you, or anything. Not even a sudden interruption by supervillain!"

"No, you very much didn't," I said in her ear, surprised to find myself breathing as hard as she was. "And no villains. That was… wow."

"Uh-huh." Piper pulled back and looked at me, and smiled slowly. "It was wow. Great description!"

Colin chuckled softly and said, "Looked 'wow' from here, too."

"Well," Piper said, her voice nervous— but no more so than when she'd said she wanted to kiss us both. "Let's see if I can get a second kiss that right."

I watched, delighted, as Piper put her arms up around Colin's neck, he put his hands on her hips, and they kissed. From the beginning, I could see that it was just as intense for the two of them as it had been for Piper and I, or ever was for Colin and I— at least when we had clothes on.

Again, when the kiss broke, Piper (trembling again, but not hard) turned it into a hug, though she spoke against Colin's chest, not his ear. "Wow. Twice in a row, no disasters.

"Plainly, my luck has changed."

Colin chuckled and said, "I know where you're coming from— my first kiss, I didn't even have powers, and everything went wrong at once."

Piper looked up at Colin and raised an eyebrow even as I said, "Oh, really?"

"Hugely." Colin chuckled a little as he continued, "We were on her front porch, and the porch light actually wasn't on— bulb had burned out sometime after her folks had turned it on— so I wasn't all that freaked. We'd walked from a local theater, it was all in a nice subdivision, so no parents waiting in the car— I was fifteen, then— and she very plainly wanted me to kiss her. So I did— and just as I did, a passing police car smacked us with a spotlight, which startled us both so that we jumped, our jump scared a cat that was on the porch and he let out one of those terribly scary noises that only a scared cat can make, she jumped into my arms from the fright, I staggered backwards down the steps, fell and smacked my head on the sidewalk, she landed on top of me in… what sure as hell _felt_ like a suggestive pose— and apparently looked it too, because when her dad threw open the door to see what the hell was going on, he saw us and yelled, 'What the hell are you DOING TO MY DAUGHTER!?'

"Then the cop got out of the car to apologize, and he started laughing, and that got me started, even though my head hurt, and I never did get a second date with that girl— her father flatly refused to let her go out with me again."

By the time Colin finished the story, Piper and I were both clinging to him and each other, trying not to collapse with laughter.

"Okay, that's a disaster, all right," I giggled as we three finally started walking towards the street. I pulled out my cell and said, "Let me call Dad, tell him to come get us."

Twenty minutes later, Dad picked us up at Wood and Lee— we hadn't rushed, just walked idly, arms around each other, occasionally swapping around so that someone else got a turn in the middle— and took us home. He didn't make any remarks about the way we were all being very snuggly, but he did catch my eye and smile his approval at me once, which made the evening the rest of the way perfect, knowing that he liked the idea of Piper, Colin and I as a relationship.

We three sat and ate a slice of watermelon each when we got home, sat talking quietly while Mom, Dad and Gwen sat a few feet off in the breakfast nook with their own watermelon and my sisters and brother sat out on the back porch to eat theirs. The grown ups would glance at Piper, Colin and I occasionally— and smile. Made me feel good. Actually, made _us_ feel good— Piper blushed when she noticed Mom looking at us and looking pleased, but she smiled, too, and it was a real smile, not a nervous one.

After we'd rinsed our plates, we said good night to my folks and my sibs, and we went upstairs. Piper had opted for taking the second floor room as hers, she liked high places (naturally), so Colin and I stopped on the second floor landing to say our goodnights to her— and to kiss her goodnight.

Just as intense as the first time. And again, she hugged each of us after, hugged us and shivered a little in a way that was anything but bad.

After that, Colin and I were both wound up— and we took even longer than usual to get to sleep. Not like either of us minded….

Saturday went well— light training, mostly the fun stuff, and a huge game of touch football with all the newbies and the rest of us Slayers playing. Right after the game, while we were all toweling off our faces and grabbing drinks, we all heard Michael, Aunt Rose's son, let out a whoop of delight.

"SHAMROCK'S EGGS HATCHED!" he yelled. "I'm gonna go see! I'll let you all know when you can see!"

He ran off with all the energy you'd expect out of a healthy, happy eight year-old, and the rest of us sat and relaxed. The newbies, most of whom didn't have their own pseudo dragons yet, were all bouncy and happy, those without a companion hoping that they'd be chosen by one of Shamrock's babies, those with a pseudo dragon friend sharing their excitement, and the basic, elemental delight that comes with baby pseudo dragons.

I hadn't even known that Shamrock had laid eggs— I'd missed it somehow— but I got to go with Michael to look at the babies before supper, and found myself grinning helplessly at the six tiny little bundles of purest cute. Most of them were pale shades of whatever color, pale gray, pale blue, a silver-tinted white, a pale, mint green and a light blue-green. The last one, a boy according to Shamrock, and a little smaller than his sibs, was a peculiar orange-black, like old iron that's gone rusty, letting you see the black of the metal under the orange of the rust. Neat color, and he seemed to be friendly, coming over to be stroked and to head-rub Ripley's chin.

"Neat," I giggled. "Thank you Shamrock, thanks, Michael. Shamrock, you may have produced a unique color in the little boy, there, I've never seen anything quite like it. Nifty-keen, thanks for letting me see them."

_*You are welcome,*_ Shamrock sent. _*And you are right— even those from the world before, the world where Glitter came from, they have never seen a pseudo dragon the color of my youngest son. I am pleased— and I am glad you all think him pretty_.*

I went to supper feeling buoyant and bouncy. Baby pseudo dragons do that to me. (At least, they do that to me when I'm not being stupid from hurt.)

After supper, Vi gathered up Piper, Colin and I and we left for Summerfest, part two. Vincent dropped us off. (The parking situation at Fairview Park was very different, with it being not so close to as much residential space as there was around Miller Park.)

We got fairly close to the stage by virtue of constantly moving, and made it to a place where we could see without being blown away by the noise. Vi stayed close enough to see us, but rarely looked our way, and was in no way intrusive. Her pseudo dragon buddy, a metallic green girl named Codex, draped herself around Vi's neck and occasionally lifted her head and grinned if I looked that way and she saw.

The first band was pretty good, a local group I'd heard of called Catalyze. They had good original songs, and their singer had one of those mutable voices that made their covers work really well.

They went off stage after an hour, and a second group set up and started playing, getting it done in about twenty minutes— long enough for bathroom breaks and grabbing some sodas from the concession stand set up under an open-sided shed off to one side of the stage.

I hadn't heard of this group, but I liked their name from the moment I heard it.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer (a locally famous DJ) said after the setup was done, "please welcome to Summerfest Eight; Chicago's own… Wolfman in Spats!"

I laughed out loud as the group took the stage, all of them in white shirts, gray slacks, and black shoes with white spats over them. They led off with a very appropriate cover, given the group's name; Warren Zevon's Werewolves of London. I grabbed Piper and we danced to that, both of us howling along with the "ah-hooooo" parts of the chorus.

After quite a few songs, maybe forty-five minutes worth of music, we all three dropped to the grass to rest, and Colin said, "Why are these guys not recording professionally? Their lead guitarist is incredible, and the singer's just as good. The rest of the band may not be as inspired as them, but they are solid— and better than a lot of what you hear on the radio."

"People have no taste, I guess," I said. I looked up at the stage, watched as the lead guitarist (a little guy with red hair) did a sort of choreographed duel-dance with the rhythm guitarist on one of their original songs, something that seemed to be called Runaway Rabbit, and grinned. They had great stage presence, and there was something sort of… tickling my brain. Something almost-not-quite familiar, here. I didn't push it, figured it would come.

They finished that song, and the lead singer said, "Wow, okay— you guys are a great crowd.

"Hey, we're down to our last three songs, and we tend to get sort of lost in the songs, so I'd better make our introductions now.

"On the drums, Phil Kramer." The drummer started a simple and sort of familiar riff. "On bass, Tom Willingham." The bass came in, matching the beat and walking off with it. "On rhythm guitar, Jake Kovacs." He came in, added a counterpoint to the bass. "On keyboards, John Mackenzie." The keyboards joined the rhythm guitar's counterpoint. "On lead guitar, our own Wizard of Oz, Da—"

The lights went out, the sound system died— and from the roof of the concession stand came a big pulse of horrid green light, a shade that made me think of vomit and hospitals, all accompanied by a high, nerve-scraping shrill of noise. The lights came back up— and we three leaped to our feet and Piper and I reached for weapons even as Colin pulled a bandanna and a ball cap out of his hip pocket, pulled the hat on and tied the bandanna over his face below the eyes. Vi appeared beside us, a short sword in her hand, a look of calm readiness on her face.

Standing on top of the concession stand's roof were at least two dozen demons in two varieties, and they were already jumping into the already-panicking crowd. I didn't even have time to reflect on what I thought the lead singer for Wolfman in Spats had been about to say, things got too crazy too fast.

About half of the demons looked to be made of some sort of colored crystal, sharp edged and rock hard. They stood over eight feet tall, were built like elongated humans, though their legs seemed short, almost ape-like in comparison to the rest of them. Their faces were hard to make out— but I could see fangs when they opened their mouths and let out a weird, vibrating roar.

The other demons just seemed _wrong_— creepy-crawly-goosebumps-all-over wrong.

Take a jaguar, shift its hips around so that it stands upright, but keep the knee-joint-equivalents bent backwards. Then stretch the front legs, make them more human, put fingers and an opposable thumb on the "hands" (but keep the claws, hell, make them bigger), elongate the heads so that the snout protrudes farther and has more room for more teeth, give it a lizard's tongue that drips slime, and make the ears bigger so that they give it an almost Yoda-like look. Then stretch the tail out, make it prehensile and tip it with a long, sharp-looking bony spur.

But wait! That's not creepy enough, not yet! For a final touch, make the whole damned thing a hideous neon purple color, and add an ugly chartreuse glow to the eyes.

Vi said, "Colin, go high and pick off what you can, Piper, stick close to me, you're not fully trained yet, Jocelyn, you go left and into the crowd, Piper and I will go right. Dragons, go airborne and spot for us!"

"Understood," Colin said, and rose into the air.

"Got it," I said, and charged at the nearest demon, one of the jaguar-things. Even as I moved, I gave a mighty mental shout.

_*WILLOW!*_ I thought-yelled. _*TROUBLE!*_

A moment later, I heard Willow's voice in my head, asking what was wrong.

_*Demons at Fairview Park, more than two dozen!*_ I sent. _*We're moving on them, but we'll need back up! Bring blunt weapons, some of them are crystalline!_*

_*On the way, hang on!*_ Wil sent.

"Ripley," I said softly, vocalizing to help her pick up my thoughts, "tell the others that help is on the way."

Then I had a jaguar-thing in front of me, and I got busy. I'd dropped my bandolier of crazy-discs over my shoulder and grabbed my short sword, hadn't bothered with stakes.

Those damned things were strong, nimble and _pissy._ The first one waited until I slashed at it, then hopped straight up into the air, passed over my sword, and lashed out with its backwards-bent legs, tried to rake me with the claws there. I went sideways in a cartwheel, barely managed to avoid the attack, then bounced back at the thing in a spinning aerial kick. I caught it across the side of the head, sent it staggering, and managed to jam my sword up under its ribs from behind before it could get too far away. It fell over dead-or-dying, and I turned to look deeper into the crowd.

That turned me to the stage. Even as I looked that way, I saw something that told me I'd been right about what the lead singer for Wolfman in Spats had been about to say when he introduced their lead guitarist.

The lead guitarist, the group's "Wizard of Oz," had set down his guitar and moved towards the front of the stage, looking at the crowd with a calculating look, Even as I watched, a jaguar-demon vaulted up on the stage, charged at the inoffensive little guitarist— and the man didn't run. Instead, he lifted his right arm, and I watched as fur and muscle suddenly rippled into being along that arm, and huge, thick claws grew from the ends of the fingers. The guitarist tore the demon's gut open with those claws, then snapped his hand up and tore out its throat. It dropped to the ground, dead— and the guitarist met my eyes as I charged into the crowd, heading for a crystal demon.

I knew. I understood. I gave him a thumbs up as I leaped at the demon feet first, and I had time to see him look relieved before I hit the crystalline monster. Even as I tried to drive the thing back into something sturdy enough to let me break it by kicking it into something harder than it was, I again spoke softly as I sent to Ripley.

"Sweetie, please relay to all dragons for their companions, including those not here yet," I said, leaping and kicking, leaping in again, dodging under a deadly, faceted arm and kicking again. "There is a werewolf here, but he is not an enemy, repeat, _not an enemy_— he's under control by his human side, and he's a good guy."

Even as I finished sending, the guitarist— whose name simply had to be Daniel "Oz" Osbourne, given what I knew and had seen— transformed to a big, powerful half-wolf-half-man, and launched himself at a jaguar demon that was leaping towards a group of girls who looked to be about thirteen, intercepting the monster and taking it to the ground, both clawing and ripping at each other.

I grinned and wondered how Willow would deal with this even as I finally drove the crystal demon back into a concrete light pole and kicked it as hard as I could while it stood against the pole. With nowhere to go and something hard enough to break it holding it in place, it fractured down the torso, a deep, bloodless fissure— and shattered into a million pieces.

Then someone let out a scream of agony somewhere to my left, and I turned that way, started moving— but I thought I was too late. A jaguar demon had picked up this guy— boy, I guess, he looked sixteen or seventeen— out of a wheelchair, had him around the throat with one big hand. I ran that way, went into a series of handsprings to get speed and height— but too late. The demon shoved its other hand into the kids gut, tearing and ripping. Its paw-hand came back out, and intestines and other things spilled out behind it. It dropped the boy, and I got mad— seriously mad, finally. It had hurt someone, probably killed him, and his death wouldn't be easy unless he was a quadriplegic, which I didn't think he was— it was a standard wheelchair, not powered, and a quadriplegic couldn't use one of those. If he'd been quadriplegic, he might not have been in the terrible pain that comes from a gut wound. As it was… poor guy.

I tore into that demon like I was one of its brethren, so pissed and hurt that all I wanted was this thing dead before it hurt or killed someone else. I was pissed, and I was acting on instinct— but this time, it was the right kind of pissed, the right kind of instinct, not something that would cause a problem, but something that drove me to _solve_ a problem.

For a moment, the demon and I traded blows, blocked each other effectively, then I took a swipe at it with my sword, hoping that it would react the same way the first one I'd attacked that way had— and it didn't disappoint me.

I slashed, it leaped up over my blade and lashed out with it's backwards-bent rear legs, meaning to rake me from shoulders to hips with its rear claws. I timed it carefully, and as the rear claws approached, I leaned backwards, just out of the reach of those deadly-sharp claws, then turned my leaning back into a fast-as-I-could-do-it back walkover. My hands hit the ground behind my head, my legs came up, feet together— and slammed into the demon's upper thighs, right below its ass. I was ready for the impact, compensated for it— it wasn't ready for it and didn't. It flipped over backwards from my transferred momentum, hit the ground leading with its chin even as I landed neatly on my feet. While it was still trying (weakly) to push itself off of the ground, I jumped forward and drove my short sword through the back of its neck just below the skull. It shuddered and died, and I straightened.

I felt a tug at my hair from behind, and a faint wind, heard the roar-shriek of a pissed-off jaguar demon and spun around to see the most amazing thing I'd seen in a while.

Standing behind me, looking puzzled and pissed, one of the jaguar demons still had the claws of its right paw-hand trying to get to me— but it couldn't quite reach me, and couldn't move forward _because of the dying kid who'd been in the wheelchair_.

From somewhere that kid had called up the strength to roll over and grab the feet of the demon as it passed. It had balance enough to keep from toppling forward, but no real leverage to pull loose of the kid's arms— not surprising, those arms looked big and powerful, corded with muscle, and I knew I'd been right, he was paraplegic, not quadriplegic, and his arms had built up from using a wheelchair, probably long term, and some serious exercise besides, I thought.

I went into a Capoeira move, spun and threw my head and torso down, cracked a heel across the demon's head, then slashed its throat with my sword as I finished the kick and my torso came back up. It fell to the ground, gurgling its hate as it died, and I shouted "Thank you!" at the kid, needing him to know I knew what he'd done, wishing I could stay with him, but needing to go to my next target.

"No… problem," he wheezed, the pain in his voice making me still more angry, and more determined to end those fucking things.

I nodded at him, said, "I'm sorry," wanting him to know that I wished I could help, and I saw understanding in his eyes, and then this huge flare of blue light came from all around, lit up the whole area in a bright, pretty glow— _and I couldn't move_.


	31. Hope Springs Eternal

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 31: Hope Springs Eternal

At least I wasn't the only one who was paralyzed by that blue light, or whatever was behind it. I could see a lot of people around the fringes of my vision, and a few demons, no one else was moving— and I discovered that I could move my eyes. In fact, I had no trouble breathing, so it wasn't total paralysis, okay. Still— not good, not now, not without a reason.

Then I got my explanation— and saw one of those things that leave you going "wow!"

The light, which had seemed to be coming from— well, from everywhere at once, coalesced into a single beam that came down from the sky. It focused on the poor, dying kid who'd helped me. He looked up into it, not even squinting at the brightness— and he smiled, a sweet, wonder-filled smile that made him look younger by taking all traces of pain from his face.

"Ian Isaac Matthias," said a voice that came from the light, a voice both male and female at the same time, and soft, yet filled with raw power. "You have, in your sixteen years, borne much pain— yet you have never lost your ability to hope, to care. That makes you something special, Ian Matthias… and we would not see that gift wasted.

"You have shown that even in the extremes of approaching death, of pain that would leave many incapable of more than screaming, you will not relinquish either hope or compassion— or your desire to help. For this… you have earned our regard."

"Who are you?" the boy— Ian— asked. "Are you…." He trailed off, looked sideways at me, then over at something I couldn't see, but assumed was Vi and Piper. "Are you the Powers That Be?"

"We are a part of those Powers," the voice said. "We are Hope.

"As we who are called the Powers That Be have those who champion us all— such as the Slayers who fight around you— we also have those who act as Champions for our individual aspects.

"Would you take your rightful place as Hope's Champion? Would you place your fate in the hands of Hope, with no more explanation than that you are needed?"

"Yes." No hesitation, no thought, just a soft, steady voice and that one word.

"Then you will _stand_ for Hope. Let it be so!"

I caught the emphasis on the word stand, but I didn't get it, not right then— I'm really, _really_ slow, sometimes.

Ian closed his eyes, a little smile on his face— and suddenly his injuries ran backwards. His intestines coiled themselves back into his stomach, the blood and other, less pleasant fluids ran back in with them, his stomach knitted itself, the cuts and almost-black bruises where the demon had grabbed his neck faded away to nothing. Ian lifted into the air, maybe six or seven feet, and that pretty blue light ran into him, drew lines all over his body, lines that glowed from inside, showed even under his clothes. I could see that there was a definite pattern to those lines, and that it centered on Ian's heart— but nothing more than that.

Then Ian Matthias drifted to the ground, landed on his feet— and stood there, blinking, as the blue light faded away. He looked down at himself, stared agog at himself and said in this tiny, amazed voice that sounded thick with tears, "I'm… standing. I… I can _walk!"_

Then motion came back into the world, and the battle picked up right where it had left off.

Two demons were charging at either me or Ian, and if it was me, they'd have to go over or through him to get to me.

"Behind you!" I said, leaping his way. I landed beside him, and saw that the lines of light still showed on his body, though they seemed to have dimmed enough that I couldn't see them through his jeans, at least. Then a crystal-demon was on us, and I didn't have time to look anymore.

I bounced into the ginga, spun a powerful kick into the demon's rock-hard stomach, and managed to stop its approach, even stagger it back a little. Even as I did so, the jaguar-demon with it leaped at Ian.

Ian yelped in surprise and fear and jumped sideways. He almost got clear of the demon, but only almost. It caught hold of Ian's left wrist with it's right paw-hand— but screamed and let go as the lines of blue light in Ian's hand lit up more brightly, burning the thing. I saw him grin and tackle the demon— then had to worry about my own target, which had started back towards me.

_*Jocelyn, catch, high and right!*_ Ripley said in my head, and I dropped my short sword from my right hand, snatched it out of the air with my left even as I flung my right hand up and out. A metal handle slapped into my hand, and I knew from the weight and balance that I'd just been thrown a mace. I shifted my hand lower on the handle (I'd caught it midway between the head and the base of the handle), leapt in close to the crystal demon, and smashed its head to tiny pieces. The rest of it followed in a shattering that started slowly, but accelerated fast.

I spun, saw that Ian's tackled demon had actually caught on fire (though the flames didn't seem to bother Ian at all), and that it had stopped fighting, was all but dead. Ian got up, looked around, and said, "I really don't know much about fighting— what do I do now?"

"Follow me, tackle any of the jaguar-things you can," I said, moving into the crowd. "Don't try the crystalline ones, they're sharp-edged."

"Yes, Miss Penobscot," Ian said, and fell in step behind me.

I spent a few seconds wondering how he knew who I was, then remembered the combination of Aunt Rose's book and the pre-Activation Day commercials I'd done the last three years or so. "Just Jocelyn, please," I said over my shoulder. "We're on the same team, after all!"

"All right, th—duck!"

I went to the ground in a roll, felt-saw the jaguar demon that had been jumping at me pass through the space I'd occupied a microsecond before, came up in the ginga— and watched as Ian simply jumped on the thing's back and clung, burning it with the lines from the Power Hope.

Before I could get a shot to kill it, Aunt Elaine came flipping through the space next to me, a crystal-demon chasing her, and Aunt Rose, armed with a metal-capped staff, chasing the demon. As the demon went past me, focused on Aunt Elaine, I smashed its leg with the mace. It fell, rolled a few feet— and Aunt Rose landed on it staff-first, from a Slayer-powered leap that had taken her ten or twelve feet in the air. The metal cap of her staff hit square between its shoulder blades— and the whole thing shattered.

"Thanks, Jocelyn," Aunt Rose said, bouncing to a stop beside me and looking at the pile of burning jaguar-demon that Ian was standing up from. "Only a couple left, come on, both of you!"

Ian and I followed Aunt Rose and Aunt Elaine into the thick of things, killed a couple more demons as a team (Ian made a great distraction— he touched demon, demon burned, demon forgot about the three Slayers who wanted it dead, demon died) and saw a thing you'd never expect to see; a werewolf fighting back-to-back with a Slayer.

Buffy and the good-guy werewolf I was almost certain was the Sunnydale Five's old friend Oz stood back-to-back in a circle of three crystal demons and one jaguar-demon, pivoting and striking, pivoting again. Then Vi and Piper hit one of the crystal ones from behind, and Aunt Rose and Aunt Elaine went after another. Buffy yelled, "Switch!" and spun away from the jaguar-demon, leaving it facing the claws and teeth of a not-happy werewolf. She lit into the crystal demon with a metal police baton in each hand, and shortly, without having to worry about more than one target, she made crystal chips.

A second or two later, there was nothing left to fight— after the werewolf tore the head off of the jaguar-demon. Literally.

For a second, they stood there panting, then Willow dropped out of the sky in front of the werewolf even as Colin dropped next to me.

Willow didn't say a word, just looked at the half-form werewolf with wide, astonished, hopeful eyes. For a moment, the werewolf looked back, then he looked down and visibly decided that there was enough left of his _badly_ tattered clothes for modesty's sake— and the change reversed, hair pulled into his skin, muscles shrank to normal, good-muscle-tone human, the muzzle pulled in… and there stood the guitarist.

"Oz," Willow breathed softly. "It's really you."

Before he could say a word, Willow jumped forward and hugged him super-hard, and he gave back as good as he got. Both of them looked happy as all get out while they hugged, and Willow was leaking happy tears.

They pulled back a little, and Oz reached up, hooked a strand of Willow's hair on a finger and pulled it to hang between them.

"At least it's not blue," he said, a little smile on his face.

"Well, this isn't Istanbul, either," Willow said— and they hugged again, just as tightly as before.

"Guess this shoots down my plan to surprise you tomorrow by showing up on your doorstep," Oz said. He looked around at the mess around us, said, "Kind of necessary, though. I'm just glad there were Slayers in attendance."

"I'm glad you were here," I said. "I saw you save that clump of girls from a jaguar-thing, and I'll bet you did a lot more."

"Well, I tried," Oz said. He looked me in the eyes and said, "Thanks. For giving me the all clear with your team, I mean."

"I was half-sure of who you were even before things went nuts," I said, grinning. "I mean— 'our own Wizard of Oz,' and having seen your pic in old yearbooks of Buffy, Xander and Willow's, that was a pretty strong indicator. Then I saw a controlled, partial change, and I knew. Or so close to knew that I might as well have known, and I did know you were on our side."

" 'Of Buffy's,' not 'of mom's' that shoots down that idea, I guess," Oz said. "Kind thought you might be Joyce. Or is Joyce not a Slayer?"

"She's a Slayer," Buffy said, "but only very recently. Not up for field work yet, and we have problems, so she's at home where it's safe. And where's _my_ hug, buster?"

While Oz hugged Buffy, I looked around, got a head count. Piper and Vi had moved around to join Colin and I, and Uncle Ballard had joined Aunt Rose and Aunt Elaine, and I could see Aunt Dawn and Aunt Sh'rin moving off towards a screaming person. Vincent and Lydia came trotting over, and Vincent started off after aunts Dawn and Sh'rin, since he's a trained combat medic. Vi followed him, and I decided I should, too. I'm decent with the first aid, and I'm a type AB positive, rare enough that it's useful for transfusions, if they're needed.

"I'm going to help with the clean up," I said, and started off after Vincent and Vi.

Pretty soon, we were all working on it, helping as best we could. I could handle simple wounds, cuts and scratches, and stop bleeding on most anything (Slayer-strength is great for direct-pressure stoppage of blood loss), and Vincent and Vi could do triage for Aunt Dawn and Aunt Sh'rin, as well as for the paramedics who arrived very shortly after we started.

Ian could help, too. It may not have looked like a big deal, what he did, but I know he saved one life, and would bet on others, by calming terrified, in-massive-pain people down, which he seemed to be able to do with just a touch— or maybe it was the whispered, "Ssh, let them help you," I didn't know. But every time, no matter what their injury, or how scared they were, the people he touched and spoke to calmed down instantly— and the caregivers had a much easier time of helping them.

I looked him over once things were under control, decided that he was a nice looking guy. No Colin, but nice looking. Five-seven or so, about a hundred and fifty pounds. Slightly long brown hair that needed cutting or to grow some more, a slightly narrow face, but not badly so, eyes a darker brown than his hair, a decent tan. The lines of light in his skin faded after he did his last calm-the-person-down thing, but you could still see the muscle in his torso and arms— and it looked like the Power Hope had given him legs to match, they had the same proportions of muscle and tone as Ian's upper body.

Once the last person had been helped to calm down, Ian stood up and started looking around, obviously looking for someone. He wandered off, and I followed him after telling Colin where I was going.

He found the person he was looking for— in the lined up bodies of the dead. I saw his eyes go wide and hurt as he looked fearfully at the line of thirteen corpses laid out for the ambulances to take away, and he dropped to his knees next to a forty-something guy, said, "Oh, Dave, no," and started crying.

I went over, knelt beside him and put an arm across his shoulders. After a moment, Ian turned to me, hugged me, and I hugged back.

"Was he your brother?" I asked.

"N-no," Ian sobbed. "Well, sort of. Big Brother like in the program, you know? He was my friend. He… he'd come and take me places, movies, ball games, hockey games, things like this. I don't— I'm an orphan."

"Shit, I'm sorry," I said, and hugged harder for a few seconds. "Look, is there someone we should call, or…?"

"I— yes, I suppose so," Ian said. He straightened up, looked me in the eyes, actually managed a smile, and said, "Thank you.

"I should call the nursing home. Although— I guess I don't need them anymore, I— oh, man, this is so freaking nuts! Good-nuts, sure, but— I have no idea what to do now, or where I'm gonna go."

"Nursing home?" I said, confused.

"Yeah, I need— _needed!—_ special care I couldn't get in a foster home or anything, so… state-run nursing home over in Peoria." He shuddered— then smiled a little. "Okay that's gonna be done with.

"Jocelyn— what do I _do?_ How do I learn to… to use this stuff? Learn everything I can do? Learn to fight?"

"I have ideas," I said. I looked around, spotted a cop who was standing nearby, watching us. "I think you should go talk to the policeman over there— I'll bet he needs to know more about your friend than he could get from a wallet, you know? And I need to make a call."

Only I didn't need to do that. I started to walk off a little way to use my cell phone, and I saw Giles and Kelly standing and talking to a detective out at the edge of the crowd, so I went that way. I waited until the conversation seemed ended to the detective's grudging satisfaction, then said, "Giles? Can I talk to you a minute?"

"Of course, Jocelyn," Giles said, and reached out to pull me into a hug. "Very well done this evening, young lady— especially recognizing that Oz was, if not the old friend he turned out to be, on the side of the angels."

"Thanks," I said, and grinned as Kelly hugged me when Giles let go. "Listen, have you heard anything about our other new good guy yet?"

"Buffy did say that one of the Powers had made a Champion out of a young man," Giles said, taking off his glasses and cleaning them. He set them back on his face and said, "Can you tell me a bit more, Jocelyn?"

I did. I told him and Kelly all of it, from the moment Ian screamed when the demon grabbed him up to what he'd told me just before I found Giles and Kelly.

Giles did what Giles _does_. The Guardians of Sh'rin's time called him 'the Father,' and they sure as hell knew what they were talking about. I didn't even get to hint at anything.

"Can you take us to young Mr. Matthias, please, Jocelyn?" Giles asked.

I looked around, didn't see him where he'd been talking to the cop, and looked sideways at Ripley, who sat balancing neatly on my shoulder. "Could you find Ian for me, please, Ripley? You can get above the crowd, I can't."

_*Okey-dokey,*_ Ripley said, and nuzzled my cheek before launching herself into the air and starting a spiral flight pattern over the crowd. A moment later, she sent, _*Ian here— at stage corner near food place._*

The three of us went around the still-milling crowd rather than through, lots faster that way. Soon we found Ian standing at one corner of the stage, looking a little lost and sort of worried, but not panicked or scared. When he saw us coming, he smiled— then went wide-eyed, apparently recognizing Giles (from one of the TV interviews he'd given, maybe, or the Team Slayer website).

"Ian Matthias, Champion of the Power Hope," I said, stopping beside him, "this is Rupert Giles, head of the Watchers' Council, and his wife, Kelly, who is in charge of the actual not-Slayer part of the education program for the Council.

"Giles, Kelly, this is Ian— who saved my life when he should have been in too much pain to do more than scream, and has done about a metric ton of good since then."

"Wow," Ian said, and shook Giles's offered hand, then Kelly's. "Oh, wow— it's an honor, Mr. and Mrs. Giles."

"Just Giles, please, and I know my wife prefers Kelly," Giles said. He looked Ian over and said, "Let me assure you, Ian, the honor is shared. Jocelyn told us what happened here tonight, what you did, what the Power of Hope said to you— and all that you've done since. Judging by your actions both before and after your transformation… I believe that the choice was well-made."

"I hope so," Ian said— then looked startled at his own inadvertent pun. He shook his head, laughed a little and said, "I just have to figure out what comes next. I have a little idea about what I can do, but just a little one, and I'm gonna need to learn about nine million things. And I guess it's foster care for me, which beats the damned nursing home, at least. I have to find a phone, call the home, and—"

"Ian," Giles said softly, "has it not occurred to you that you are talking to people who could very probably help you with those things that you need to learn?"

Ian's shocked gawp answered better than words ever could have, and I giggled.

"You… you'd help? Train me? Just like that?" Ian looked shocked, hopeful, and almost painfully eager. "Really, just like that?"

"You saved the life of my goddaughter, Ian, when you had to be in hideous pain," Giles said. "You then helped save a great many lives after, even though you had no clear idea of what you could do yet. You are certainly on our side— and can almost certainly help us as we can help you.

"Not only can I help with your training, but I may well be able to help with something else. Would you all excuse me for a moment?"

Giles walked away several yards, flipped open his cell phone and started making calls. Ian looked back and forth from me to Kelly— then pinched himself.

"Ow, okay, I'm not dreaming," Ian said. "This is— damn!"

"I sympathize," I said. I looked at Kelly and saw her looking smug, guessed what Giles was doing, and decided he had to have an extra-squeezy hug later. Then I settled in to wait, leaning on Kelly and slipping an arm around her.

While Giles talked, Ian got introduced to Ripley and to Kelly's friend Titania, both of whom liked him a lot. When asked, he said he'd never been around baby pseudo dragons, barely around pseudo dragons at all— and I anticipated him having a companion before a month was out. After all, we had six unattached babies now, Buffy's companion Pointy had laid eggs Thursday, and Kelly told me that Gwen's pal Moonlight had laid eggs that evening, not long after we younger people had left. Since both clutches of eggs were the standard six, that gave Ian eighteen shots at the brass ring— and the way Ripley and Titania both took to him immediately said his chances were very good.

When Giles came back over, his pseudo dragon added his stamp of approval by flapping over to drop on Ian's shoulder and lean around to grin at the kid.

"The pseudo dragons like you, very good," Giles said. "Ian… I have a proposal for you."

"Yes, sir?" Ian said, meeting Giles's eyes.

"It occurs to me that it may take some time to discover all of your abilities, help you learn to control them, and give you the skills needed to act as Champion for the Power Hope," Giles said. "Given that you had been residing in a nursing home, and had been in need of special care, I thought it might be rather easy to bypass the system, and I was right.

"Ian, would you care to stay with us? In the long term, as it were? You would have your own room, and—"

Ian's eyes had been widening since Giles asked if he wanted to stay with Team Slayer, and now he almost shouted, "Yes! Yes, please, sir!"

"Just Giles, please, Ian," he said. He smiled a little, and said, "Well, once things are settled here, we'll take you home with us and tomorrow, we can take you to Peoria to get your things. I'll have the necessary paperwork by then, so that won't be a problem."

"But— but it's Saturday night!" Ian said. He looked puzzled, shocked and excited all at once. "How could you do that so fast on a Saturday night!?"

"You seem to be aware of who we are and what we do, Ian," Giles said, looking a little smug and sort of teacher-ish at the same time. "Do you follow our actions in the news?"

"Yes, s—Giles, I do," Ian said. "I always have, long as I can remember, you guys are the coolest."

"Thank you. Then perhaps you are aware of our actions when the Illinois Executive Mansion was invaded by Joraphannus demons last fall?" Giles looked very, very smug. "After we saved her life and the lives of her family, Governor Knowles told me that she would do all she could to help us in any way that she could. I have not abused that offer, so when I called her a few moments ago, asked her about obtaining custody of a young man with no family or foster family, she was quite willing to make the necessary calls to make it happen. All of the adults at the Council Seat are registered as approved foster parents, for those instances when we discover a Slayer without family, so that raises no difficulty.

"For the moment, you will be staying with Jocelyn's family, as our house is rather full, but if you like, you can move in with Kelly and I after Buffy's family's house is finished.

"Does this plan suit you, Ian?"

"Yes!" Ian said. "Yes, thank you!"

Giles is a bit reserved— probably his British upbringing— so he just shook Ian's hand in welcome, but Kelly hugged him all-out, and I could see tears in the boy's eyes. When Kelly let go, I hugged him myself and said, "Welcome to Team Slayer, Ian. And to my house, I guess. I warn you, the older of my little sisters is psychic, and my little brother is a disaster looking for a place to happen. Also, I have a puppy who's part moose, and if you let him on your bed now, you may regret it later, because he'll be big enough to push you out."

Ian laughed, wiped his face, and followed us all to the place where the rest of the Team Slayer people were gathering, getting ready to leave. As we approached, I saw Oz coming out of an RV parked behind the stage the bands had played on. He had on clean, not-shredded clothes, had a deep, dark silver pseudo dragon around his neck— and his arm around a woman who was carrying a sleeping child of two or three years. I saw Willow's eyes go wide… but not sad. Not even jealous, just surprised, and maybe a little melancholy, but just a little.

He joined us by the edge of the parking lot, and called, "Hey, everybody, I'd like you all to meet my wife, my kid, and my cure for lycanthropy."

He tugged the woman forward by the hand, and I got a good look at her. She was one of those women who'd never be gorgeous, but was painfully cute. Small, petite even, with a round, lightly freckled face, a small mouth, and blond hair that she wore short, in a style that framed her face nicely. The baby— a girl, she had on a dress— had her father's red hair and her mother's hazel eyes, and looked around at all these strange people with interest. As they stopped, a second pseudo dragon, so light a red that it was almost (but not quite) pink, landed on the woman's shoulder.

"This is my wife, Angela Dean-Osborne," Oz said, smiling and kissing her temple. He leaned over and pecked the little girl on the lips and added, "And this is our little girl, Jenny." He reached up and stroked the dragon on his shoulder and said, "And this is my best bud, and the last part of my cure for lycanthropy. His name is Prozac."

We all got a laugh at that, and Willow introduced everyone, finishing with, "There are a lot more of us at home, and of course, Xander's there, and— you are coming over, right?"

"That's the plan," Oz said. "Buffy invited us. She didn't tell you?"

Buffy tried to hide behind Vincent, but he stepped aside as Willow turned to glare at her best friend. "No, she didn't," Wil said. "I'll turn her into a toad for that. Later."

Buffy stuck her tongue out at Willow— then hid behind Giles.

"Okay, we've got vans coming— I think there's enough room for everyone, and I hate to fly in public if there's not, you know, an emergency," Willow said. "Your band know you're going to be with us?"

"Yeah, I told them," Oz said. "It's cool, they're all taking off for the week on vacation."

About that time, Dad, Ballard and Xander pulled up in vans, and we started piling in. I grabbed Ian and pulled him with Colin, Piper and I into the van Dad was driving, and Vincent and Vi came with us.

"Dad, this is Ian Matthias, he's the one Giles called about," I said as I dropped into the front passenger's seat and turned to indicate Ian. "He got picked as a Champion for one of the Powers That Be— the one who stands for Hope— in the middle of the fight. And that right after he saved my butt from a demon that had come up behind me. Ian, this is my dad, Whitelaw Penobscot."

Dad turned around in his seat and gave Ian a long, firm handshake. "Call me Whitey, please, young man," Daddy said. Then he gave Ian a mock-stern look and went on, "You saved my daughter's life. For that, I'm in your debt. So if you say one word to me about not wanting to put us out— or anything of that nature— while you're staying with us, I'll have to _hope_ that I can get away with kicking your butt."

"Yes, Whitey," Ian said, wince-grinning over the wordplay. "I'll behave."

We drove back to Scooby Mansion, with those of us who'd been there roughing out the fight for Daddy, and I made Ian blush darkly by quoting— verbatim— the conversation between him and the Power Hope.

When I finished, Daddy locked his eyes on Ian's in the rearview mirror and said with a smile, "You, young man, are pre-approved. When one of the Powers picks you for its Champion? When it's the Power Hope, to boot?

"Jocelyn is spoken for, but I have other daughters. When they're old enough, you have my permission to marry either of them."

"Uh, thanks," Ian said, blushing even darker than the last time.

"Relax, Ian," Piper said from beside him. "I've been around Whitey enough to— well, to want to call him Uncle Ben, for one— my aunt and Uncle raised me— and to know that he only teases you if he likes you, to boot."

"Okay," Ian said. He tried a grin, got a response from Dad, and said, "Well, if they grow up to look like Jocelyn, I may have to take you up on that. How long 'til one of them is eighteen?"

"Eight years, I'm afraid," Dad said. He'd been looking at Piper in the rearview mirror, smiling at the compliment she'd paid him, but he glanced at the road then looked at Ian, said, "If she turns out as well as Jocelyn in respect to romantic inclinations, we'll probably let her date seriously at thirteen or fourteen, if you really want to keep your options open that long."

"Um, I'd be nineteen or twenty, though," Ian reminded Dad.

"Oh, come on, I know you've read Chosen to Stand," Daddy said. "Remember, I was thirty when I married Jocelyn's mother, and she was sixteen. I'm capable of being an asshole, Ian, when need arises, but I'm not a hypocrite."

"Uh, okay," Ian said. "I forgot that. I mean— it's one thing to read about you guys like that, and it's something else entirely to _freaking_ _go home with a bunch of you,_ y'know?" He looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, "It's like going home to Minas Tirith with Aragorn, you know? Or back to Vulcan with Mr. Spock. Or to Castle Amber with Prince Corwin."

At that last, Daddy's eyes lit up. He loved the Chronicles of Amber, through the first half of which Prince Corwin of Amber was the lead character, and had actually been pissed when it turned out that the Royal Family of Amber had turned up at the Law and Justice Center in the throes of the dimensional bleedover that had characterized the final battle with Amy Madison— and he hadn't gotten to meet them.

Through the rest of the ride home, Daddy and Ian talked about the Chronicles of Amber, and I could see Ian relaxing more with every word they exchanged. Neat.

We got home and everyone went to Scooby Mansion, where Daddy took Ian downstairs to get some new clothes— his had been torn up by demons, and the pants, sized to fit the sticklike legs of a paraplegic, didn't fit well anyway.

When they came up, everyone had gathered in the living room to hear about Ian and Oz, and Giles said, "Willow, I know you are eager to hear about what Oz has been doing these many years, and I am as well— but I think I should like to know a little more about Ian before we start.

"Ian… could you tell us a bit about yourself? How you came to be in a wheelchair, if it's not too personal?"

"No, it's okay," Ian said. He took a deep breath, and said, "It's not really complicated, either. When I was six, my dad and mom decided to take us all— me, mom and my older sister— on a vacation to the Grand Canyon. We were going by car, since dad had a month of vacation time, and… we didn't even get out of Peoria very far, just onto the interstate, when a trucker who'd been driving for like a day and a half fell asleep at the wheel. He jumped the median, and the trailer… landed on our car. Mom, Dad and Helen all died, and I… I got the wheelchair. Mom and dad had both been only children, and my grandparents were all dead, so… I was the only six year-old in the nursing home. I couldn't do regular foster care, I needed some… some special care, so they stuck me in the nursing home. I still went to school and stuff, but I lived there."

" 'You have, in your sixteen years, borne much pain,' " I quoted. I shook my head and added, "God, that sucks, Ian, I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Ian said. He shrugged and said, "A lot of the people were nice— I ended up with a lot of grandmas and grandpas, and I hope I can still go visit them pretty often?" Giles nodded and smiled, and Ian nodded back, then visibly relaxed. "Wow. You know, if I wake up and this was all a dream, I'm gonna be seriously pissed."

"I cannot blame you," Giles said, leaning forward and meeting Liam's eyes. "However, I am quite sure that you will not do so.

"In the meantime…." Giles gestured to Aunt Dawn and Aunt Sh'rin, and as they came towards him and Ian, said, "Ian, these two are healers of extreme skill— and have magic at their disposal to aid them, including a diagnostic spell that I have seen them use many times, and that has never been wrong. I would appreciate it if you would let them use that spell on you, just for safety's sake.

"But before they begin… young man, I barely know you, but I must say that I am proud of you."

"Proud?" Ian said, looking both intrigued and puzzled. "Sir— Giles— I don't understand. Why are you proud of me? I'm practically bouncing off the walls with delight, here."

"You are justified in that delight," Giles said. He stood up and moved closer to Ian, laid a hand on his shoulder. "But I am proud of you, Ian, first because you are not letting that delight distract you, and second… Ian, you managed, in the face of being orphaned and being confined to a wheelchair to maintain enough hope to attract the attention of a Power that _is_ Hope.

"You are an extraordinary young man, Ian Matthias, and I'm glad to have met you."

"I'd have to agree," Xander said, leaning forward and grinning. "And I'm the acknowledged expert on 'extraordinary'— just ask Dawn."

Aunt Dawn looked back at Xander, gave him a thousand-megawatt smile, then turned her attention back to the spell she and Sh'rin had laid out. "Okay, Ian, this will only take a minute or so, and Sh'rin and I will need to touch your wrists where a nurse checks your pulse, okay?"

"Okay," Ian said. He glanced over his shoulder at Giles, who stayed close, stood behind Ian, not touching him so that he wouldn't interfere with the spell, but staying there. "Thanks, Giles. I know that nothing's wrong with me, but… I get you wanting to be sure, you know?"

"Thank you, Ian," Giles said, and stayed where he was.

Aunt Dawn and Aunt Sh'rin joined hands, and each laid the palm of their free hand on Ian's wrists at the pulse-points, then started chanting. After about a minute, they reached the trigger-point of their spell, and a band of pure white light appeared at the crown of Ian's head, started to travel downwards slowly, expanding to pass over his shoulders and chest, then travelling on down slowly. I'd seen this spell before, knew what to look for, and felt a quiet delight when the band reached Ian's feet without ever once having slowed down or flashed yellow, orange or red.

"According to the spell," Aunt Dawn said when it had finished, "you're as healthy as a Slayer on her best day, Ian. But it's nice to be sure."

"It is, thank you," Ian agreed, grinning at her and Aunt Sh'rin. "Thank you both, ladies."

"Indeed it is, and my thanks as well." Giles then turned to Oz and said, "Now, Oz, I believe it is your turn. You have obviously gained full control of your lycanthropy. May I ask how?"

"And where you've been and what you've been doing all these years, don't forget that," Willow said from where she sat half-reclining against Lydia, with their little adopted daughter, Elise, in her lap. "That's a big question, too."

"Point," Oz said. "But the lycanthropy thing… that first."

Oz stood up, walked over to where Buffy sat with Xander on one side and Joyce on the other and said, "Buffy, I owe you. You're the reason I've got control of the wolf."

Buffy gaped up at him for a moment, then sputtered, "Me? Huh?"

Oz nodded, smiled a little, and explained.


	32. Is It Paranoia When…?

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 32: Is It Paranoia When They're Really Out to Get You…?

"Well, I already pretty much said that the rest of my cure was Prozac, here," Oz said, stroking his pseudo dragon friend's neck. "So… I owe you, Buffy."

"You owe me for a pseudo dragon liking you enough to say, 'hey, let's hang out for life, what do you say?' How's that work, Oz?" Buffy looked both skeptical and amused.

"Pretty simple, really," Oz said. "I read Chosen to Stand— awesome book, Rose— so I know how the pseudo dragons got here. So… I thank you."

"Still not following what I'm tentatively going to refer to as your logic, Oz," Buffy said. She stroked Pointy, her own pseudo dragon friend, who'd left her eggs long enough to grab a bite to eat and meet the new folks, and said, "Of course, that's really sort of saying 'just like old times,' now that I think about it."

"Okay, so… I met Prozac here because Glitter's memories and knowledge of the extended Scooby Gang impressed the dragon who ended up fathering her first brood enough that he spread it around when he went back to his world with his wizard friend in November of 2003, and the pseudo dragons he told about this place wanted to see it, to meet people like you guys." Oz grinned. "Now, there are those who would say I should thank Rose, since she impressed Glitter so much that Glitter refused a shot at going home, but no. Not that I'm not grateful for that much, too— but Buffy, if not for you deciding to have Wil activate all the potential Slayers on Earth, Rose would never have had the power, would probably never have been in her high school looking for trouble that day— and none of the rest would have followed. So… thanks."

"And the Oz-man wins by technical knockout," Xander said, grinning. "Just like old times, all right."

"Okay, you win." Buffy chuckled. "You're welcome Oz— but how does it work? I know you had some control, but… Jocelyn said you did a partial change, just your arm, and I saw the half-form— I fought _beside_ the half form."

"Pretty simple, really," Oz said. "Pseudo dragons are telepathic and empathic. So when I start stressing, Prozac knows it before I do, most times, and he knows a bunch of little mental tricks that wizards back on their world of origin use— learned them from his mom, who came from that world. Also the focusing and concentration methods that wizards use for spells. He taught me all these things, and coupled with the herbs and meditations I already had under my belt… well, I got complete control over the wolf in me. Partial changes, half form, a quarter and a three-quarters form, and uh… well the full form, it's looking more like a wolf nowadays. A big wolf, sure, but… yeah, a wolf."

"That's good," Xander said. "I never wanted to say anything, didn't want to hurt your feelings, but the way the wolf form looked before? Not so much like a wolf as sort of like a big gay possum."

"Pretty much, yeah," Oz said after a moment's thought. "Good call.

"Anyway, after I left Sunnydale the second time, I went looking for… well, not answers so much. Kind of thought there really weren't any. I went looking for someplace safe, where people would know how to deal with me without silver bullets. I ended up in Romania for a long time. I found a band of gypsies who were pretty cool, and they sort of… took me in. They knew Miss Calendar's tribe, and got along with them, helped me at least partly because I'd known her. With the aid of this old grandmother who was a witch, I discovered that if I went ahead and locked myself up and just let the wolf out on the night of the full moon, then I could control it totally the rest of the time, even the night before and after. One night, better than three.

"Then in October of oh-eight, the caravan was in Bucharest for a gathering of all the Roma in the country, and I met my first pseudo dragon— Prozac's mother, who'd attached herself to this old gypsy guy. She hatched her kids during the gathering, and I went by, saw them, and kinda got attached to Prozac right away. A week later, he told me that he wanted to be my friend, that I should call him Prozac, because he could help me calm down, and… well, two years later, I owned the wolf— not the other way around.

"In oh-nine, I came back to the States and settled in San Diego for a while. I got back into the music scene, and with not having to take the nights of full moons off, it worked better than before. Then in twenty-eleven, I met Angela at a gig, in twenty-thirteen I followed her back to Chicago, in twenty-fourteen we were married, and eighteen months later, Angela had Jenny.

"I hooked up with Wolfman in Spats the next year— as soon as I saw the name, I had to try out for the band, you know?— and we're going places now. Next month we're opening for Girls' Night Out up in Chi, and their manager is gonna see how we do on stage. Could be a contract in there.

"Doesn't matter, though. I got Angela and Jenny. That's enough. But… I gotta say, it's good to see you guys again. Kinda hope we won't lose touch again. It's like the old days. The good ones, I mean, not the high-school-on-a-Hellmouth-mayor-becomes-a-demon days. Those I can do without."

"You know, Oz," Willow said sitting up a little and looking at him, "you're maybe the only person alive who could condense eighteen years of not seeing you into five minutes of talking."

"It's a knack," Oz said easily. "Haven't lost it."

"But that's the most I've heard him say in front of more than just me since the night he met my parents, I think," Angela said. "At least, if we don't count reading to Jenny."

"I can believe it," Willow said. "Does he still like to stay up all night talking, sometimes?"

"Oh, yeah," Angela said, grinning at Willow— and relaxing the last little bit. "Not so often since Jenny came along, but sometimes."

"See?" Willow said, looking back and forth between Buffy and Xander. "I told you he'd talk that much! Now I've got proof!"

"Hard to believe," Xander said. "I wasn't really sure Oz could talk for more than three sentences without reverting to monosyllables. Unless it was about music, then I think I heard him say six sentences, once."

We all chuckled, then Oz said, "So… I know a lot of what's happened with you guys, since you're all out in the open nowadays, and with Rose's book, but… Buffy said you had problems? Anything I can help with?"

"I don't think so," Buffy said with a sigh. "You never met any of our current problems but Drusilla, and she's the least threatening of the lot."

"Was she… no, wait." Oz shook his head. "Sorry— it's been sort of crazy, you know?

"Buffy, Xander, Joyce… I'm sorry about Alex. I didn't hear about it until after the funeral was over, or I'd have come. All of us in the band and our families were camping up in the wilds of northern Wisconsin, and it was over by the time I got back."

"Thanks, Oz," Xander said, and Buffy echoed him while Joyce just moved closer to her mom. "It's okay— we had a lot of support, thank god."

"Still sucks," Oz said. "But… was that Drusilla?"

"No, but she's working with the bastard that did it— and with Amy Madison's mom, besides," Xander said, his voice hard and flat. "So she's got a target painted on her, so far as we're concerned."

From there, we all talked until after midnight, explaining to Ian, Oz and Angela what had been happening pretty thoroughly. The Osbournes put the baby in Giles and Kelly's room when she dozed off, and we just sat and talked, explained things, and those of us who didn't know him got to know Oz a little, and we all got to know Angela. About one, Xander drove them to their motel, which wasn't far— just a couple of miles or so from Scooby Mansion— and we all went to our various homes and beds after Buffy and Willow extracted promises from Oz and Angela that they'd come back Sunday.

I showed Ian to the last unoccupied bedroom in my house, the one on the ground floor, got him settled in, hugged him good night, and went to bed with Colin (after we both kissed the HECK out of Piper)— then to sleep maybe an hour later. (Hey, we were tired!)

Sunday was, of course, a day off. Mostly. I mean, I still did some forms and kata and Capoeira— I don't feel right if I don't. But not much past that but fun stuff.

Giles drove Ian over to Peoria to get his things Sunday after lunch, and on the way back, they stopped and got him a lot of new pairs of pants. With the Power fleshing out and toning up his legs, what he had just didn't fit, so they got him new stuff. While they were gone, I sat and listened to Vi tell Buffy about how Piper had done in the demon fight, and found myself grinning.

Buffy had been worried that Piper's superhero "don't kill" reflex would get in the way of her doing what had to be done with almost all demons, but that hadn't happened. Piper had seen one of the crystal demons tear a guy's arm off and throw him aside, and she'd gone after that monster with every intention of destroying it— and done the job, killed it and another of the same kind by executing a flying, two-footed kick that slammed the first into the second hard enough to shatter both. After that, she'd more than pulled her weight, and Vi said she'd take Piper on a team any time.

Excellent.

About the time Giles and Ian got back, Oz, Angela and Jenny showed up, and the day got pleasantly lazy all over again. Lots of talking, goofing around, all sorts of stuff— and a little bit of almost-work on Piper's part.

I'd been watching Ian a little, because something about how he moved bugged me some. Piper had also been watching him, and she and I spoke about it when we noticed each other noticing. She was bugged, too. Not scary-bugged, just that's-not-quite-right bugged. After a while, Piper got it, and I actually popped myself in the head once when she told me what it was.

Ian wasn't doing a lot of sitting down, you know? (Who could blame the kid, after years in a wheelchair!?) He stood, or paced, or leaned against a wall a lot— I don't think he sat that whole afternoon, except when it would have been rude to stand.

Anyway, all his movements involving his legs came across as careful, tentative, unsure, even uneasy. When Piper figured out why, the answer seemed so obvious that I think I deserved the smack in the head I gave myself. We went and found Dad as soon after that as we could do so without making a thing of it.

"Dad, who's going to be doing most of the working with Ian?" I asked when we found him in the kitchen making barbecue sauce.

"Giles and Buffy, mostly, I think," Dad said, his eyes on the measuring spoon that he was pouring honey into. "We discussed it in brief this morning, and Giles has the most knowledge of this sort of thing. For the physical, we're going to put him with Buffy because she's so damned good at physical training, and he'll probably learn a lot from her. Why do you ask, honey-girl?"

"Whitey, have you watched him at all today?" Piper asked. Dad raised an eyebrow at her, and Piper rolled her eyes and said, "No, Whitey, I'm not attracted to him. He's nice looking, but… no. I like him a lot, but he's not my style, he… well he reminds me too much of the old me, really.

"But Whitey, you know how you and Chantelle say I had a great sense of kinesics? My own _and_ other peoples'?"

"Yes, you do have, you and Jocelyn both," Daddy said. He grinned, offered her the honey spoon to lick and let me lick it instead when she shook her head, and said, "I think yours is from your super-agility, probably, Piper. Jocelyn's is something she developed from her started-young martial arts habit, but yours is just as strong, maybe stronger, Piper."

"Maybe," Piper said. "Anyway, I think you may need to work with Ian, Whitey, like you did with… um, I read it in Rose's book, hang on…. Ah, right! With Chelsea Yoder, way back when, when she was just recovered from the _myasthenia gravis,_ and needed so much help learning to move."

Daddy looked at Piper blankly for a moment— then, as I had, he smacked himself in the head as he got it. "It's been ten years since he walked much! He needs to relearn that, and running and— how did I miss that?"

"Same way we all did?" I suggested. I tapped my own forehead, said, "Five minutes ago, I smacked this when Piper told me. Don't feel too bad, no one else got it either."

"Yeah, okay," Daddy said. He went over and hugged Piper (who accepted it and returned it casually, YAY!). "I'm glad you saw it, O Princess of Arachnids— might have embarrassed him to be thrown into things and not be able to keep up. I'll talk to Giles, plan on working with Ian some before we toss him into the combat training."

"Maybe you and Uncle Ballard both?" I suggested as he let go of Piper and turned to his sauce again. "You did a kickass job with Chelsea, and with helping Bree Dayton, come to that, but Uncle Ballard's the most aware-of-his-body guy around, what with the Capoeira fixation and such. You get Ian through the basics, the walking, running, changing direction and such, then let Uncle Ballard take over the jumping, run-and-jump, move-legs-in-funny-ways part?"

"Another good idea," Daddy said. He hugged me, kissed my cheek, squeezed once more, and said, "You two are good. Can't wait to see what happens when you get fully trained, Piper, and Jocelyn gets her confidence back. You should both train other girls."

"Sounds fun," I admitted. "But… not gonna hurry that. I won't try it until I'm back at a hundred percent. Now, I'm gonna have to let you, Mom, Buffy, Giles, Diane and maybe especially Xander judge that, because I can't— but when all of you say I'm back to where I was and improving again? Yeah, I'll help with the training. I expect I'll love it."

" 'Especially Xander,' huh?" Daddy said, looking at me curiously. Piper, too, looked a little puzzled. "Any particular reason for that, Jocelyn?"

"He _sees,_ Daddy," I said. "He sees so much that the First Evil tried to blind him, remember? And he's not so attached to me as you and Mom are— oh, he loves me, I know that, but I'm not _his kid,_ so he won't be tempted to hedge either way. When Xander says I'm back to a hundred percent and rising, I'll know it's true, not wishful thinking on my part, or my parents' parts. Then I'll be ready to be Trainer Girl, instead of In-Training Lass."

For a long moment, Daddy just looked at me and smiled— a good smile, the I'm-proud-of-you smile. Then he hugged me again and said, "It's amazing to me that you could have your head so right about so many things, and still be letting this one little bit of silliness eat at you, Jocelyn Penobscot."

"You can say that again," Piper muttered. Dad looked at her and raised an eyebrow, and Piper blushed, but added, "Hey, I can see it. I've even given her grief for it, in moderate amounts."

"See?" Daddy pretended to glare at me, which is hard to do while you're grinning, and said, "Piper sees it, and she's almost the newest member of the family. You're nuts, dear daughter— but you're getting better.

"Okay, see if you can find the apple cider vinegar, honey-girl, I know we've got some, but somebody moved it, and I need it for the barbecue sauce."

I found it for him (under the sink with the cleaning stuff, weird), then Piper and I sat and talked with him while he made his sauce (wonderful stuff!), then went outside with him again to hang out and talk while he did the cooking. We had dinner outside, then moved inside because the bugs had started getting bad— August in Illinois, lots of bugs, go figure.

We had a nice night. Watched a movie, all of us, then sat around and listened to the Sunnydale Five and Oz play "remember when"— both fun and educational. I mean, who knew that Willow had started to go out one Halloween as a hooker? Who'd have _believed_ it!?

Oz, Angela and their little girl left about eleven, and I let myself be taken to bed by Colin, again after some time spent making out with Piper.

Monday, back into training— and Daddy spent the morning with Ian, just… walking, talking, jogging, talking more, running, racing, talking still more, then going back to the walking. In the hour before lunch, Daddy started Ian on the basics of yoga, knowing that the awareness of his body given him by the physical aspects of yoga would help. By afternoon, when Ian went off with Giles, Aunt Dawn and Aunt Sh'rin to see if they could figure out what sort of things he'd be able to do with the power given him by Hope, I could see a difference in how Ian moved. Not a total recovery of confidence, but an improvement, you know? That made me feel good, helpful— and gave me more reason to smile at Piper.

After supper that night— again, eaten outside— we all sat outside in clumps, talking, playing cards, goofing off for a while. The bugs were bad again, this time a bunch of flies instead of the mosquitoes we'd had the night before. We ignored them for the most part, just waved them off when they got close.

Michael Killian, Mark II, brought out Shamrock and her babies when his pseudo dragon friend asked it, and the babies made themselves a total hit with the newbie Slayers and with Ian— big surprise, right?

About the time we were getting ready to go in because it started getting dark, Ian, who'd been sitting and talking to Joyce Harris, Riley Giles and my brother Stephen while petting any dragon of any age who got close to him, put his chin down on the picnic table the kids were sitting at, and met the eyes of Shamrock's orange-black baby boy while rubbing the little one's head. After a moment, Ian sort of sat up with a jerk— then reached down and stroked the little guy's head very carefully, not like the pseudo dragon would be hurt, but like he wanted to find exactly the right place— and you could tell from the blissed-out look on the little dragon's face and the way his wings fluttered without thought that Ian had gotten it right.

"Oh, man," Ian said, his voice wondering. "You can't even fly yet. Are you really sure?"

In answer, the little dragon, not able to fly, as Ian had noted, climbed up Ian's arm, little claws never breaking the skin, sat on his shoulder, and pressed against Ian's neck and cheek like a cat, then settled down on Ian's shoulder and looked at him expectantly.

"Okay then," Ian said, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. "Uh, everyone? This little guy says his name is Anvil, and that he's going to stay with me."

We laughed and clapped and even cheered some, and Aunt Rose and Glitter went over to that table, sat down next to them, and both looked at boy and baby pseudo dragon with a mix of amusement and surprise.

"You know, Ian, you just set a record," Aunt Rose said, giving him a grin even as Glitter walked across the table to sit in front of him and nod emphatically.

"I did?" Ian said. "What sort of record?"

"Anvil is only two days old," Aunt Rose said, reaching over to stroke the baby's head. "And he's already decided that you're his human? That's the youngest I've ever seen, or Glitter's even _heard_ of. Congratulations, sir!"

"Wow, really?" Ian said, his face brightening even further. "That's cool, thanks for telling me."

"No problem," Aunt Rose said. She grinned and said, "Glitter thinks it's probably got a lot to do with the same things that caused one of the Powers choose you to act as their Champion— and I can't help but agree."

"Uh, thanks," Ian said— and blushed.

Aunt Rose chuckled, told him he was welcome, then hugged him and went back to her family's table, where the adults were playing their last hand of poker for the night.

When we all started going to our separate houses, I noticed that Joyce stopped Ian as he started to move off, and gave him a long, lingering hug. Ah-ha! And good deal, at least in my eyes.

I saw Xander and Buffy looking at them, both a little surprised, but neither at all disapproving, and saw on both of their faces the same question; was this something romantic on Joyce's part, or was she trying to fill the void in her left by Alex's death with Ian in a brotherly role?

My money was on romantic. Maybe it's that whole kinesic awareness thing, but it sure looked romantic to me, at least on her part. Ian… well, I think he was too surprised to think of it that way right then, but he wore a faintly speculative look as we all went inside our house.

We all watched the newly-released Booster Gold movie on DVD, then started off for bed, thought it took some of us a while to get there….

Piper, Colin and I stood on the second floor landing and made out for… a good twenty minutes. The word "wow" cannot touch the level of yum that was.

When we went down to breakfast in the morning, Piper walked with us, between Colin and I, and didn't blush at all when we went into the kitchen and people called their greetings to us.

After breakfast, my sister Belinda came over and hugged me herself, then said in my ear, "You picked the right people, Jocelyn. You guys will be so happy together it's like a story— but I'm not sure you're done yet. I think… I keep seeing you three together and looking for the fourth one, like some part of me knows there ought to be four of you." She cocked her head and looked thoughtful, then added, "For now, at least."

"Good grief," I said, staring at her. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah, I am," Belle said. She looked thoughtful, then said, "I am serious— and I think I'm right, but it's not like… it's not like the Big Visions, you know? Just… sort of a feeling. And I…." Belinda's pupils contracted to pinpricks for just a moment, then snapped back to normal— and she said, " 'The fourth will be like Colin and Piper, but not like them?' What the heck does _that_ mean?"

I blinked and stared at my psychic little sister. "How am I supposed to know, sis? You're Vision Girl, I'm just a Slayer. You brains, me brawn!"

Belinda giggled, then looked more serious and said, "I really hope it didn't mean hurt like he was, or confused like Piper… still is just a little, maybe. I know he's lots better, getting better still, and Piper's almost totally well, but I don't think anyone should have to hurt that much, or be that mixed-up." I hugged her fiercely, and she hugged back, knew I was thanking her for that sentiment, then continued, "So… maybe another super hero, but with…I don't know no actual powers, like Batman? Or… maybe just someone else not from this Earth?"

"Yow," I said, and looked at her. "Thanks for breaking my brain, sis."

"No problem," Belle said, and kissed my cheek. She stood up, took a single step back and said with a big grin, "It's not like breaking your brain requires actual _work,_ you know!"

She fled from me, got behind Daddy and said, "She's gonna tickle me, Daddy, don't let her!"

"No tickling before class, you'll be late," Daddy said. "Wait until after supper."

"Daddy!" Belinda cried.

"Never let it be said that your father is foolish enough to get in the middle of a fight between two females," Dad said with a smirk. "I'm not _that_ crazy, girls."

I went to class and trained with the others, worked as Buffy's and Aunt Rose's sparring partner (and demonstration dummy), while Daddy and Uncle Ballard worked with Ian some, and several times, I caught Joyce looking their way, her eyes on Ian. Twice, I caught Buffy looking at her as she looked at Ian, and the expression on Buffy's face seemed to be a mixture of "aw, that's cute," and "dammit, why does she have to grow up this fast?" Still, I felt pretty sure that if Joyce and Ian became an item, Buffy wouldn't try to squelch it, or anything.

After lunch, Xander looked around and said, "I need volunteers for a work party, folks— preferably from the already-trained, I don't want you trainees missing any training."

"What're we volunteering for?" Vi Chandler asked a little warily. "If you want volunteers to taste some food concoction that involves more than one kind of pepper, or any variety of pepper that comprises more than three percent of food volume, you can count me out."

"No, nothing like that, ya big sissy," Xander said. _"Vincent_ didn't go all wimpy over my Chicken Plutonium."

"Vincent has a stronger gastro-intestinal system than me," Vi said. She looked thoughtful, then said, "Probably from all those years of army food."

"Well, relax," Xander said, chuckling over the army food comment. "No food involved. It's just that Chez Harris is officially finished, and I figure we'll need help getting our furniture and stuff out of the dorm at Giles's place and over there."

Whooping with delight, Buffy ran to kiss her husband, and Joyce to hug her dad, who bore up stoically under the affectionate assault from the two most important women in his life.

Giles waived the afternoon classes for everyone over Xander's protests, and the bunch of us got Xander, Buffy and Joyce's stuff moved in fast, in less than two hours. (C'mon, think about it— a bunch of super-strong women, a couple of super-strong guys [Vincent and Colin], and Willow's telekinesis, all under the direction of Giles, who is a natural foreman-type? Two full hours would have been being _lazy_.)

Like my Daddy and the man who'd originally built Scooby Mansion, Xander had paid extra to have the builders work around the trees on the property when he had the house built, so what you got was a tree-surrounded stone-construction place as big as ours, and with just as many bedrooms, and studded with balconies and fireplaces. When Giles found out that Xander's house had ten bedrooms, he asked why Xander had been so extravagant.

"Oh, come on, Giles," Xander said. "We adopt Slayers without families, time-traveling witches, dimension-tossed super heroes, orphaned Champions of the Powers and pseudo dragons with the frequency that your average college kid eats at McDonald's. Then add frequent guests, and it starts to get kind of nuts. We need places to put these folks, right? So… ten bedrooms. We'll use two, have lots of rooms."

Giles stared at Xander for a long moment, then laughed and said, "Yes, all right— I certainly cannot fault your reasoning, Xander. Well done."

They had a house-warming party, of course, which was a lot of fun. We all stayed up too late, and had plenty of fun, which was nice, since school started the following Monday. All the fun we could pack into that last week of slightly-more-freedom was way welcome.

The next morning, I woke up first— it was my turn to help cook breakfast— got out of bed carefully, and went downstairs, where I found Ian sitting in the living room with Anvil on his shoulder— and Joyce snuggled up against his side, her arms around him, Leia, her pseudo dragon, half on her lap, half on Ian's. The two of them were talking quietly, and I managed to slip past them without them noticing, and went to the kitchen to join Xander, who was the other breakfast cook that morning.

"Morning, Jocelyn," Xander said, and gave me a hug. "How are you today?"

"Pretty okay," I said. "Little sleepy, we were up too late, but a glass of apple juice and I'll be fine. What are we fixing today?"

Xander pressed a couple of buttons on the keyboard of the laptop that sat on the kitchen counter and said, "I feel ambitious— must be the effects of living in _my_ house, you know?— so how about omelets? I think we have everything for everyone's tastes."

"Okay," I said, and gulped some juice before finding a couple of cutting boards and starting to get ingredients out of the fridge. "And maybe a hash brown casserole on the side?"

"Works for me," Xander said. He scrolled through the database of omelet preferences for a moment (that's why the laptop was there— saved time by letting us database things like condiment preferences, omelet preferences, and how people wanted their beef cooked). "Hmm. Okay, no entry for Ian yet. You want to go ask him what he likes in an omelet? If I go, it'll have them both thinking I'm snooping, don't want that."

I grinned, hugged Xander, told him he was nifty, and went to ask. Ian and Joyce hadn't moved, but that might have been because Joyce had fallen asleep against his side. Ian sat there looking at her, smiling this little "holy god, I'm so lucky" smile, and idly stroking Leia and Anvil.

"Hey," I said softly. "We're doing omelets for breakfast, Ian— what do you want in yours?"

Ian looked up at me, saw that I didn't think the way he sat holding Joyce at all odd, and said quietly, "Um, sausage, onion and the sharpest cheddar you've got? And if you've got them, English muffins instead of toast."

"Good across the boards," I said. I gave him a wicked grin, and asked, "Have you kissed her, yet?"

"Uh, no," Ian said, blushing the color of a ripe plum. "I mean— I want to, but I know better than to rush anything. Her brother… just a few weeks ago, that. And she's… worth not hurrying things."

"Definitely," I agreed. Then I widened my grin and said, "And that her mother could kick your ass nine ways from Sunday if you hurt her, that doesn't enter the equation, right?"

"Just a tiny bit, maybe," Ian admitted, still blushing, but smiling. "But mostly… I just don't want to rush her. Or me. Wheelchairs do not make a good incentive for romance, you know? So this is all sort of new, and I won't hurry me, either."

"A sixteen year-old male with a brain," I said. I shook my head in mock surprise and said, "I realize that you're special, or the Power Hope wouldn't have made you its Champion, Ian, but still… will wonders never cease?"

"I hope not," Ian said, absolutely deadpan— and I left the room with my hands clapped over my mouth to prevent a snort of laughter from waking Joyce.

Xander looked at me curiously as I came into the kitchen laughing, and I said, "Ian belongs with us for sure, Xander— he puns!"

He grinned, said, "Cool— more insanity for Giles," and we set about the cooking chores.

That Wednesday passed without serious event, but I should note that the flies stayed bad, and a lot of them had gotten into each house. They didn't bug people much, but tended to stay high on the walls and ceilings, so we really paid almost no attention to them.

Thursday morning, we all walked over to Giles's to have breakfast there— except for Anvil, who'd started flying that morning, and wasn't willing to stop just yet. He flew most of the way, only coming back to Ian's shoulder as we got to the house, having gotten tired— he wasn't used to the exertion yet, not really.

As Ian worked at cleaning up the breakfast dishes— it was his turn, along with Uncle Ballard, that morning— Anvil again started flying around, delighting in his newfound freedom in the air. It wasn't quite time to start training yet, so the rest of us sat and watched and chuckled as Anvil zipped and zoomed around the kitchen, chasing a fly that had buzzed near Ian and caught the baby pseudo dragon's attention.

Anvil really wasn't graceful enough in the air to have a lot of hope of catching a fly yet, but watching him try was better than an hour of stand-up from the comedian of your choice— we all got almost weak with laughter watching that still-clumsy-in-the-air baby pseudo dragon chase that fly with the dogged determination of a jet pilot going after an enemy plane. Oh, so funny!

Right up until the fly zigged when it should have zagged, and Anvil snapped it out of the air— then squealed in pain, spasmed in mid-air, sent a mental _*OW!*_ that we all felt-heard, and tumbled towards the ground.

Daddy was close, and he lunged forward, got cupped hands under the baby dragon, caught him gently, and lifted him to the table even as Ian lurched that way, his face white.

"What the hell was that?" Aunt Rose asked, moving that way, Glitter flying ahead of her.

"Anvil!?" Ian cried. "Anvil, are you okay!?"

The dragon peeped in distress, but stood up on the table. He was shaking, trembling almost violently, but he got up on his feet and managed to stay that way. Ian picked him up carefully, cradled him close, and some color started to come back into his face.

"You scared me, Anvil," Ian said, looking at his newest and best friend. "What happened?"

Still trembling, the little dragon locked eyes with Ian, and a moment later, Ian said, "Anvil says it stung him— but flies don't have stingers, and that was a fly, not a bee. What the heck?"

Mi Kyong moved that way suddenly, reached out and stroked Anvil, let her fingers rest on him lightly, and said, "Stung you, little wing? But… that's not right. That dream…."

All of us but Ian knew about Mi Kyong's Slayer dream, so only he looked puzzled as the rest of us froze and held our breath, waiting to see if whatever was tickling Mi Kyong's brain would come out. After a long moment, she looked sideways at Fog, her own pseudo dragon friend who sat on her shoulder, and I saw that they were communicating silently. After a moment, Fog nuzzled Anvil gently, and the little guy met her eyes for a moment. Fog looked at Mi Kyong and nodded.

"No, it's not coming," Mi Kyong said with a sigh. "I think it was a false alarm. The— the dragon in my dream couldn't have been Anvil, he's prettier than it was."

Even as Mi Kyong said, that, though, Ripley said in my mind, *_Mi Kyong says that Anvil felt the sting from the bug all over, not just in mouth. She thinks was electricity, that flies are tiny machines and we should not talk about it yet, or say secret things until we know how to make them go away._*

"Well, Anvil's a cutie," I said aloud, to fill the silence as everyone else absorbed what Mi Kyong had said. "Not quite as cute as Ripley, but I'm prejudiced, I admit it."

People broke up slowly, and I didn't think it an accident when Giles asked Willow to join him in running some errands. As they left, my aunts Rose, Sh'rin and Dawn (and their pseudo dragons) asked Ian and Anvil to come with them, so they could check the baby out, being healers and the resident expert on pseudo dragons.

(I know it was necessary, but I still felt bad that, once they'd gotten into a basement room and Aunt Dawn had determined magically that they weren't under any sort of surveillance, they had to induce vomiting in poor Anvil to get the body of that fly out of his tummy— he'd swallowed reflexively when it "stung" him.)

Twenty minutes later, the pseudo dragons relayed a message from Aunt Rose; it hadn't been a fly, but, as Mi Kyong's dream had shown her, a tiny robot version of a fly, made to spy on us. It hadn't "stung" Anvil, he'd crushed it's ultra-tiny power supply and gotten a shock.

I ran through a mental checklist of the names I'd like to call Warren Mears, robotic bastard-at-large, to his _face_ while I worked out that morning. I still hadn't stopped when we broke for lunch, and the least-vulgar thing I remember thinking was "bastard son of a serial killer and a Mr. Coffee."

When Giles and Willow got back, Wil, Aunt Dawn and Aunt Sh'rin took off for the afternoon, claiming that they needed a day of tanning and swimming, and I guess they really did go swimming at the pool in Fairview Park— but they also worked out between them a spell that would let them identify any machine made by the intelligence that had made that fly-bot, and prevent it from coming close to us on pain of destruction. They came home and started casting it that night after supper, and I kid you not; that was the longest, most complicated, most _draining_ spell I've ever seen cast by anyone, anywhere, anywhen. Also, the ingredients for it ran somewhere close to a million dollars— Giles paid without a blink, and they were able to have the ingredients delivered before supper time, but still! A freaking pound of gold, all sorts of rare gems (small, but not cheap), some exotic foodstuffs, rare plants and about a tablespoon of the blood of a Champion of the Powers. They asked me to donate that, since I'd been born with the power, and I gave it willingly.

(I mentioned the rare ingredients, but let me mention some of the odd ones. They were sort of logical, but, yeah— odd. They used a kids' game called "Rock 'Em, Sock 'Em Robots," an old, barely functional Apple computer [no loss, it only had a forty gig hard drive and a gig of ram— ancient!], a book called "Coils" by Roger Zelazny and Fred Saberhagen [about a machine intelligence and the one human who can communicate with it and other machines naturally], a pre-paid-minutes cell phone, and a copy of the movie "Terminator." Like I said— sort of logical, but… weird!)

They finally finished at a little before two in the morning. They'd started at about a quarter to seven, so we're talking about three of the most powerful witches in the freaking _world_ taking _seven hours_ to cast a spell!

When it was over, this huge ring of pearly white light burst up and out of their spell circle, expanded out through the walls of Giles's house, covered about a six block radius (damn!)— and those of us watching saw the fly-bots Warren had sent disappear in flashes of light— I counted nine in the living room, and I couldn't see the whole thing. Willow said later that there seemed to be about _three hundred_ of the damned things!

She and Aunt Dawn and Aunt Sh'rin were literally too tired to walk after that spell. Each was drenched in sweat, gasping for air like they'd just run a marathon, and had big bags under their eyes— but they thought it worth it, and I had to agree.

Lydia carried Wil home, with Xander along to open doors for her, Uncle Ballard carried Aunt Dawn upstairs to bed, and Aunt Rose carried Aunt Sh'rin (cute, that!).

Giles didn't seem inclined to go right off to bed, asked Aunt Elaine to wait a few moments, and the rest of the Watcher types as well, so I didn't go either. Colin and Piper stayed with me, and when Xander came back, Giles spoke.

"Ladies and gentlemen, while I am capable of dealing with a great many threats, I find myself lacking somewhat in one area," Giles said. He sighed, cleaned his glasses, and said, "I am not of a technological bent, as all of you know— as most of you have been teasing me about for a great many years, even.

"Therefore, I am finding it difficult to… to look in the appropriate places, to see things in the appropriate ways, to anticipate a technological threat such as Warren presents. So I must ask each of you for assistance, and Elaine, I would be grateful if you would pass that request to Ballard and Rose, and to Dawn when she wakes tomorrow.

"Each of you has a demonstrated fondness for science fiction entertainment, in various degrees, and Piper has a demonstrated interest in and talent for science— so I would ask each of you to be as aware as possible of the things I might be missing. Should you think of something that I might not see, please, tell me— immediately, if necessary, and that includes waking me in the middle of the night— but as soon as possible, regardless.

"I am confident that, once a threat has been identified, I will be able to think of it in terms that I understand— much as I understood the threat that Colin faced just before he was brought to our universe— but you may have to call such a thing to my attention."

"Makes sense," Xander said, nodding. "I mean— you're no luddite, quite, but you aren't exactly Joe Technophile, either."

"Admitting a weakness proves you're smarter than I thought, even," Kelly said, and kissed him.

"Um, one thing, Giles?" Aunt Elaine said. "One thing you could do tomorrow?"

"And that would be?" Giles said, actually looking pleased that Aunt Elaine had already thought of something.

"Pull Brian Keller out of Japan, assign him here until this is over," Aunt Elaine said. She smiled and said, "Brian's not just a science fiction fan, he's a scientist and a total technophile. He may see things we sci-fi geeks would miss, or even Piper, since he's got the benefit of a full education, and she hasn't, yet."

"An excellent idea, thank you," Giles said. He stood, slowly and wearily. "And on that note, one and all, I thank you— and bid you good night."

We all went off to bed, and slept well, knowing that somewhere, Warren Mears had to be about frothing at the mouth in piss-off.


	33. Reclamation

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 33: Reclamation

_Interlude: Outside of Mexico City_

"God DAMN those witch-bitch whores!" Warren Mears screamed, standing and flipping the table that had held the many monitors he had used to watch the footage sent by his fly-spies. Every one of them had just gone out completely, gone no-signal black. The three witches in the extended Scooby gang had done some spell, some damned spell that had wiped out every single one of his fly-spies in a microsecond.

"Oh, dear," Drusilla said mildly. "How did they find out, do you suppose? That you were spying on them with little robots, I mean?"

"One of the Slayers mentioned a Slayer dream," Warren said. "I know from Killian's book that Slayers sometimes get prophetic dreams, and that— dammit! I can't even imagine a way to stop that."

Catherine Madison, looking fresh, calm and very well dressed, came into Warren's lab then, looked around, and said, "Oh, damn. What happened?"

"Lost the fly-spies," Warren said. "I tried to send more in right after— had a few in reserve— and they got destroyed, too."

"How did that happen?" Catherine asked, looking worried.

"The three Scooby-witches did some spell, and I lost all feeds, can't get anything else in there," Warren said, flipping the table upright and beginning to toss broken monitors into a dumpster across the room, lobbing them the fifty-plus feet casually, but hitting unerringly. "I can't stand that little sister of Buffy's— she thinks around corners, comes up with spells that the other two never would."

"Have you video of the spell, still?" Catherine asked. "If I see what they did, I _might_ be able to counter it."

Warren brightened, hooked up the hard drive that had been saving all the video to a working monitor in another part of the lab, ushered Catherine to a chair and let her watch the video. Only a few minutes in, Catherine frowned, shook her head, sighed, and studied the controls of the video player. She managed to find good views of the spell circle from several angles, then jumped to the last few minutes of the spell, watched it with a worried expression. When it ended, she flopped back in the chair and said softly, "Damn."

"How bad is it?" Warren asked, dropping into a chair beside his witch-ally.

"Very," Catherine said. "First… Warren, I'm a lot more powerful than I was way back when, more powerful than my daughter Amy was— but I couldn't begin to break or counter that spell they did. Willow's connection to the magic is such that she was able to— well, imagine hooking up one of your laser guns to the New York City power grid. That's the rough equivalent of what she did.

"Then add in the intent of the spell, and we have a serious problem."

"What was the intent?" Warren asked.

"Basically, that spell worked in two stages," Catherine said. "In the first stage, it took… it took a psychic fingerprint, if you will, of the mind behind the fly-spies, recorded that fingerprint, and is now comparing it with any machine that comes into the field called up by the second part of the spell. That field will destroy utterly anything created by that intelligence.

"You can't go there yourself again, Warren— you'll be destroyed."

"Shit!" Warren said. Then he looked hopeful and said, "Wait, what if I design a robot to build robots to do the work? Then it's not my 'psychic fingerprint,' right?"

"They thought of that, Warren," Catherine said with a sigh. "It will keep sifting backwards— and do so in less than a second— until it finds the sentience at the heart of the intent.

"It's a damned good spell, damn them."

"Shit!" Warren said. He slammed his fist down on his thigh hard enough that the transmitted force caused Catherine's chair to jump on the floor. "This totally _screws_ the main part of the plan! If nothing I make can get in there, we can't possibly destroy—"

"Oh, but we can," Drusilla said. She smiled like a schoolgirl, laughed and said, "Yes, yes we can!

"Warren, they don't stay in the house— and neither does _it,_ not always. We just need to wait until they take it out, and then you can do what needs doing. If we can lure them far enough away, they won't even accidentally take it back home and destroy the thingamies when they go back through the field."

"And this without even a vision," Warren said in an admiring tone— after gaping for a moment. "You know, teaming up with you two may be the smartest thing I've ever done."

"Oh, my," Catherine said, smiling an amused smile. "Warren, I think moving to a robotic body actually made you smarter. I've never heard a man admit that teaming up with women was the right thing to do before."

"Yeah, well, it's true," Warren said. "I know my weaknesses, and you two more than make up for those.

"Okay, Catherine, what can you come up with that will make them bring it out to the battlefield?"

"Oh, I have several things in mind," Catherine said, smiling a little. "The question is, where should I do the summoning? Where do you want them to go with it? If it's too far away, we'll have to work out a way to make things very personal, Warren, or they'll have a local team handle it."

"Another good point," Warren said. "Let me think on that for a bit— this has to be done right."

"All right," Catherine said, standing and stretching. "I'm going to go, then, Warren, get started on my part of the final solution. I need some time to call up the needed power— not so much as Amy needed for her spell, but some time. And I want to ward it properly so that there's less bleed-over, don't want them suspicious of the right thing at the wrong time."

"And the banishing spell?" Drusilla asked, her eyes gleaming with hate. "Have you worked it out all the way?"

"I have," Catherine said. "I need a couple of very hard-to-find ingredients— I emailed you a list of things I'll need, Warren, you're the one with the legitimate funds and the ability to find nearly anything— and I'll be ready.

"Understand, Drusilla, I won't be banishing it forever— or even really banishing it at all. It will just leave its current home… and move to a new one."

"So long as it's not in my way at the wrong time," Drusilla said, "that's fine."

"It won't be," Catherine assured the vampire. "I promise."

"Good enough for me," Drusilla said. "All right— I'm hungry, I'm going to hunt. Anyone want anything from town?"

"No, I'll be leaving right away, thanks," Catherine said.

"Warren?"

"No, I'm good, thanks Dru," Warren said. "I'm gonna start looking for Catherine's stuff from here while I go out and scout a few possible locations for Catherine's… bait-and-break."

Catherine and Drusilla left, and Warren in his many bodies set to work at his various tasks.

_Jocelyn:_

The rest of that week went quietly, danger-wise at least. Not so quiet in other ways, what with school almost in session and all. Saturday morning, Slayers-in-training and graduated Slayers who had "normal" school to finish yet started arriving at Scooby Mansion and moving into the dorms out behind Giles's house. That kept me busy greeting old friends, introducing them to my lovers (I counted Piper, even though things hadn't progressed past some light petting then) and Ripley (none of them ever asked about Royal, though the few I was closest to did express their condolences— I found out later that the household members who'd been picking up the girls were making sure they knew the score, making me love my extended family still more), helping people get settled in, all that jazz.

Brian Keller arrived Saturday, too, and moved into Scooby Mansion, taking the room that had been Joyce's while she and her folks stayed there. He immediately came and found me, Colin and Piper— and immediately after introductions had been made, he put an idea to Piper.

"Look, I know that you're here because the Powers say we'll probably need some of your skills," Brian said, quirking a smile at Piper. "Now, I know you're bright as hell on the science and can do stuff physically that I'll never even be able to consider doing— good deal, you're smart— but I think it might be a good idea to get you up to speed on current sciences here, and do it faster than a school environment is likely to be able to.

"What do you say we start Monday? You have Chemistry II scheduled last in the day, I already spoke to Giles, he's cool with me picking you up and bringing you back here to work with you on… well, I can teach what you need to learn, pretty sure, at least if we avoid medical-focused biology and such."

"Wow, that's— that sounds like a great idea," Piper said, nodding and looking thoughtful around a blush. "But, uh, how do you know I'll be able to keep up?"

"Read your comic until Marvel stopped publishing the Ultimate line," Brian said with a grin. "You have to be as smart as Peter, and he was too smart for high school science. Maybe the fifteen year time jump will throw you a little, but I doubt it."

"Oh." Piper smiled at the compliment, and her blush started to fade. "Well… yes, I'd like that, sir."

"Okay, but if you call me sir again, I'll hack into your email and sign you up for a bunch of really gross porn-picture mailing lists, Piper," he said, grinning. "Brian. Not sir, and damned sure not Mr. Keller. Brian."

Piper laughed, agreed, and Brian went off to find Aunt Rose and get caught up with her.

After a blissfully uneventful weekend, I started school on Monday, and got back into the school groove. Piper attended classes at the Giles Academy for Education, but she was in mostly Junior classes, except PE— that she took with me— and the science tutoring from Brian, which, after looking at it, I think was more like _college_ junior level. We didn't have but the one class together, but we saw each other in the halls, and ate lunch together every day.

A lot of the girls seemed surprised at how… well, _subdued_ I'd become during Slayer training classes. I'd always been confident, had to watch myself to keep from crossing the line into cocky (and succeeded— mostly), but after the freakout over not having been Chosen, I had sunk away from cocky, and stayed in the lower-to-mid ranges of confident. No one actually asked about it, but I know that a lot of girls wanted to.

(Joyce told me a couple of days later that a series of rumors had circulated about me, and pared quickly down to two; first that I had done something wrong, horribly wrong, been sharply punished for it, and was being all modest and quiet to get back in the good graces of the Watchers and Guardians, and second [and almost inevitable, considering that it was _high school],_ that I was pregnant. People are so freaking insane!)

Buffy came back to teach at the Academy again, teaching PE for Slayer trainees, and Xander came along and taught woodshop and basic home maintenance to everyone, since the other teacher had retired early due to ill health at the end of last year. Joyce didn't take anything from him, said it was hard enough calling her mom "Buffy" in Slayer training (Buffy thought it a good idea, at school at least, to have Joyce call her what everyone else did), she didn't think she could call her dad "Xander," let alone "Mr. Harris." I could see her point.

Friday after school, I got home to find that Colin was gone, had flown off to aid in the rescue operations after an earthquake in the LA area. It had been a bad one, and Colin knew from experience on his own Earth that he could help.

Oh, did he help! He couldn't hide from the cameras, of course, and he didn't try. He had on his bandanna-mask and ball cap, and he just waded into the rescue effort. He cut rubble down to more manageable size with his energy blasts, shifted it with his superhuman strength, rescued people from the upper stories of some standing-but-unsafe buildings, flew supplies to wherever they were needed, and generally made a HUGE difference in the saving of lives.

(So did the local Slayers— Faith and her team were there, right in the middle of things— but not the way Colin did.)

But more importantly, Colin took back a piece of himself— and I knew it was time to give him what Kelly had made from my sketches.

Eventually, a news crew caught up with him, a crew from CNN, and they asked why he hid his face.

"I… may do other things, someday, things that would put the people I care about in danger if I revealed my identity to the world." He sighed, visible in the heave of his shoulders, and said, "I can't do that to my family and friends, so… I hide my face."

"What should we call you?" asked the reporter. "Sir, we can't just keep calling you 'the glowing man,' and if you don't give us a name, someone else, someone from the press may do it."

"I like Nova," said the CNN cameraman.

"Starman!" shouted someone from the crowd— and that started a flood of suggestions.

"Captain Photon!"

"Captain Nova!"

"Laser Man!"

"Laser Lord!"

"Pulsar!"

"Nebula!"

"Captain Galaxy!"

"Major Magellanic!"

After shuddering a little over those last two shouts, Colin drifted up a little way into the sky, maybe four feet, just high enough that everyone in the crowd could see him raise his hands for silence. After a surprisingly short time, he got it— and he said what I was almost praying for, by then.

"All right," Colin said. "I have a name you can use.

"Call me… call me Starpulse."

The crowd applauded, and I could see one guy near the front looking absolutely pole-axed, and I knew that that guy had read Colin's comic, when it had been out— and realized that Colin really was him, really was _that_ Starpulse.

"Hey!" called a National Guard sergeant from the edge of the screen. "Hey, Starpulse— we need you at the old Grayson Building, eleven blocks south and one west. There are people trapped in there, and you're the best chance they've got."

"I'm on my way," Starpulse said— and flew that way at something below the speed of sound, but not much below.

"There you have it, ladies and gentlemen," the lady from CNN said. "The apparent super hero who showed up to help out here at the site of the Los Angeles earthquake has taken the name 'Starpulse,' which seems… very appropriate."

"Yes!" I said, and kissed Piper, then hugged my not-blood-still-sister Mi Kyong, who was closest to me after Piper. "All right, yes!

"I need to find Kelly— be right back!"

Kelly was coming to find me, and we met on the back porch of my house. She'd obviously been watching CNN, and anticipated my request. She handed me a brown-paper-wrapped parcel that, judging by weight and squishiness, contained clothes, grinned at me and said, "I saw— and I knew you'd want this."

"Thank you, Kelly," I said, and hugged her for a long moment. "He's getting all the way better, I think, if he can call himself Starpulse in the face of a news crew."

"He is," Kelly agreed. "He's working very hard— and I think the work is almost done, honey."

Colin arrived home at a little after midnight, visibly tired, dirty as hell, and his clothes kind of tattered. He found Piper and I waiting for him in the living room of the house, with Mom, Dad, Gwen, Buffy, Xander, Giles, Kelly, Aunt Rose, her spouses, Mi Kyong, Diane and Ian all waiting with us.

Once he'd been properly kissed— which took a couple minutes— he looked around and said, "Okay, either I'm in trouble or you're all happy with me. Given the looks on faces, I'm betting on option two?"

"Indeed," Giles said, standing and shaking Colin's hand. "We all stayed up to congratulate on starting the last stage of your healing, Colin."

"There's something we'd like you to do, if you have the energy," Kelly said. "If you're too tired, that's fine, we'll wait, but… if you can stay awake a bit, we'd like you to grab a shower… and put on the clothes we left for you in your bathroom."

Colin looked puzzled, but he nodded slowly, said, "I'm pretty awake, now. After those kisses, I'd have to be comatose not to be awake. I'll be back down in a few."

We sat and waited, me nervously (what if he didn't like it?), the others in simple anticipation. After maybe twenty minutes, Colin came down— but we didn't hear him until he reached the bottom of the stairs, because he didn't walk, he flew, very slowly and with his glow off. We first realized that he'd come down when he shut off his flight and dropped to the floor at the base of the stairs, and we all turned at the soft "thump" of the drop.

There stood Colin— Starpulse!— in the costume that I'd designed for him and Kelly had made.

Black cargo pants, pleated and just loose enough to move freely in, bloused into black combat boots. Black leather driving gloves, a tie-on black mask with plastic build-ups sewn into it that slightly changed the look of his face, the knot of the mask just above the place where his hair was gathered into a ponytail.

And the tunic, the tunic that made the costume _his._ Long-sleeved, a little loose, again for freedom of movement, tucked into the pants, and black… mostly. It edged to deep blue and deep purple here and there— near the stars that had been sprinkled over the whole thing— realistic stars, not the five-pointed-get-them-on-your-homework-when-you're-little kind. Round points of light in mostly white, some other colors— and I recognized them. The star-field that Kelly had put on the tunic was the one seen at the very end of Souls, Like Scattered Stars, at the moment when Aunt Elaine flung her arms and legs out in triumph and joy…. He pivoted, and I marveled at Kelly's hard work and attention to detail, because the pattern continued onto the back, and showed the stars that would have been in front of Aunt Elaine. (I'm a serious amateur astronomer, that's how I recognized all this.)

Starpulse finished his turn, faced us again, and we saw again in the center of his chest, in the place where Aunt Elaine would have been if that were a screen-capture, a slightly modified version of the original insignia that Colin had worn on his chest; a huge starburst, bigger than the original, that covered his chest from an inch above the belt to an inch below the collar, and ran to the sides of his chest, about halfway to his back, in the two vertical and two horizontal rays. The four diagonal rays were about two-thirds that length and more narrow, and two circles of light were centered on the star instead of Colin's original one band, a wider band close to the center of the starburst, a narrower band just a little ways inside the tips of the diagonal rays.

And Colin— Starpulse— was smiling, a big, happy, sentimental smile that said I'd done it right, with Kelly's help.

"Thank you," Starpulse said— and his voice came out deeper, deeper than I'd heard it before. I realized that this must have been how he'd talked when being Starpulse, and shivered in delight. "Thank you, all of you— now who do I thank in specific, please?"

"That would be Jocelyn for the design," Uncle Ballard said, giving me a grin, "and Kelly for the execution."

I got the heck kissed out of me, one of those kisses that leaves you dizzy and wishing for a bed and a lack of clothes, and Kelly got a hug that said she'd just been promoted to honorary mom.

"This… I can wear this," Colin said. "It's different enough that there's no bad memory attached, but I still feel… well, like _Starpulse!_

"Thank you, Jocelyn, thank you Kelly. Again!"

"You're welcome," I said, still holding on to Piper because I was still dizzy from that kiss. "Very welcome, even."

"You're more than welcome," Kelly said. "Now that I know you like it, I'll make more— you seem to be rather realistically hard on clothes, darn it, so you'll need more. I just didn't want to do that until we knew you liked it."

"I love it," Colin corrected gently. "I love it, thank you. I feel… complete. I mean— no, not complete. I feel like I've merged the old me with the new me, and I'm more than the sum of the parts."

"Oh, good," Diane said, chuckling. "That should make my job a lot easier from here out."

"Colin," Giles said, standing again, "there is the matter of name recognition. The Slayers you've met will keep your name to themselves, but I think it may be wise to… have ID that says your name is not Colin Goddard. We have methods of procuring such. Is that acceptable?"

"Very acceptable, thanks," Colin agreed.

"Have you a preference for a last name?" Giles asked. "And a middle name, for that matter? It might be best to keep only your first name."

Colin looked thoughtful for a moment, then looked up and said, "For a middle name, I think— I read the comics about me, and they never mentioned it, so I want Daniel for a middle name, please. That's Jason's— Armsman's— middle name.

"And for a last name… if it can be worked out so that I'm a long lost cousin of Kelly's or something, would it be okay if I were Colin Daniel Riley?"

That got Colin hugged very hard— Kelly obviously approved.

Half an hour later, Colin and I finally went to bed— and Piper went with us.

Piper didn't make love to us, but she watched us openly, and things… went farther than they had before. _Serious_ petting occurred, and she watched everything Colin and I did from very, very close— then stayed with us to sleep, which made things pretty much perfect.

Saturday went peacefully, for the most part. I scolded Colin a little when he bitched about being unable to go back and help more at the earthquake site due to his reduced power levels. He'd brought himself down to ten percent or so, and didn't dare go back for fear of snapping back to his own universe if he ran dry. The chance of that happening was still better than sixty percent according to Willow, so he couldn't go. He accepted his scolding meekly, then went back to bed with me for a while.

Instead, after coordinating with a wizard out there, Willow opened a gate to LA— and Piper, wearing her new Spider-woman outfit, went to help. She made a huge, huge difference in the recovery of people who'd have died with her, just as Colin had, though in a different fashion— she shifted rubble, then webbed it in place, rather than cutting it, and she used her webs to climb to high places instead of flying. She came home around ten, because the Army had things under control— and Faith (who'd been let in on the secret of who Piper was by Buffy) sent Piper home when the Army sent her and her team home.

If anyone made a connection between the comic-book character and Piper, they never said anything about it— the new costume probably helped. Or maybe it was the fifteen years between her last appearance in the comics and then, or, more likely a combination of the two.

That night, we three repeated the exercises of the night before in bed, and Piper again stayed with us to sleep.

Sunday morning, Colin ended up going out— he was back to almost full power by then— to help with a somewhat more local disaster, a huge apartment building fire in Chicago that was endangering the lives of a lot of people. He wore his new costume, and someone actually said, as he flew in to the building to begin carrying people out, "Look, up in the sky! It's Starpulse!"

When I heard that on the TV (we were watching, of course), I almost hurt myself by getting caught between a groan and a laugh.

Starpulse got out more than two hundred people, then helped save the building from total destruction by taking a Halon gas canister into the fire and letting it disperse its contents, smothering the fire as it ate the oxygen in the building.

He got home and got hugged— and asked Willow if we could send a couple of pictures of him in the new outfit, and a DVD of the news footage of him from Friday and Sunday, to his friend Armsman on his home Earth. Willow agreed, and he went off to make the DVD after we got a couple of pictures of him.

Before we could get that done, things went nuts. Giles got a call from Mayor Carlon of Bloomington, asking for assistance with a situation at Wesleyan University.

Now, before I go any further, I should tell you that the revelation of the reality of the supernatural after the Battle of Bloomington did have a downside; not just Slayers had the freedom to operate in the open, nowadays. The bad guys didn't have to be all secretive, either, and a lot of them weren't. Also, a lot of the bad-and-nasty supernatural types operated like mercenaries, doing virtually anything for enough pay, though some of them demanded payment in unusual coin. (Urtulal demons, as example, wanted payment in alligators, which were, for some reason, holy to them, and Polquinat demons demanded payment in cacao beans, the things from which cocoa and chocolate are made.) Demon mercenaries could be and often were a major pain in the ass of the world— and especially of Team Slayer.

That day, demonic mercenaries were a big old butt-pain, all right. Seems that a terrorist group— one of those claiming to be a remnant of al-Qaeda (not like anyone believed them), the group responsible for the nine-eleven attacks back in oh-one— had hired a bunch of demons to help them attack a welcome-new-students event at Shirk Center, Wesleyan University's athletic center. Some six hundred students and faculty were being held hostage against a list of demands that ran from the insane (requiring all female students to withdraw and go home) to the just plain stupid— the City of Bloomington was to close its doors to and kick out of town the "infidel international terrorist group of heathens who call themselves Team Slayer or the Watchers' Council, and who allow women to act as though they are better than men."

Stupid fucking terrorists— the Council Seat was in _Normal,_ not _Bloomington!_ How dumb can you get!?

We went. All of us fully-trained Slayers, plus all the non-Slayer female members of Team Slayer who were in town. The guys sat this one out (at Giles's suggestion, I love that man!), since it would be far more humiliating for the terrorists if an all-female team took them out. The team that went consisted of: Buffy Harris, Slayer-in-command, Kelly Giles, Watcher-in-Command, Lydia Heller, Watcher, Dawn Innes, Watcher and Guardian, Sh'rin Innes (she'd never gotten Ballard's last name legally, but she used it anyway), Guardian, Willow Rosenberg, Magical Support, Rose Killian, Slayer second-in-command, Diane Hodges, Profiling and Psychological Support (she loved the idea of helping take down terrorists), and, the last of the "titled" members of the team… Jocelyn Penobscot, Intelligence Support.

Yeah. That START rank Graham awarded me, that made me qualified to interpret intel, and my performance on that had stayed pretty steady, despite my doubts about being never having been Chosen, because that wasn't anything to do with the Power, just knowing things, things I'd learned by hard work, that hadn't been a gift. Those skills, they stayed sharp.

For "ordinary" Slayers (and _there's_ an oxymoron if ever there was one!), we had Elaine Marshall, Chantelle Penobscot, Violet "Vi" Chandler, non-slayer-but-faked-it-really-well Piper Benjamin, and four girls who were students at the Academy, but had graduated to full Slayer; Alina Sidorova, Abigail van Horne, Rhonda McIntosh and Aamira Nazari, an Arabic Slayer for whom these guys were an absolute _insult_.

We went to the campus, got all the info we could from the police and the FBI (who'd gotten tiny cameras in on wires, and tapped into the Center's sound system for audio feed). After we had it all, Buffy, Kelly and I sat down to go over it. Not a good scene at all, but… workable. With the aid of Willow, Dawn and Sh'rin, we had a really good chance of not letting a single hostage be hurt, which, yes, was the most important thing by a factor of several thousand. All ten of the demons (a variety called T'lakren, humanoid, muscular, and capable of exuding fire from hands and mouths, completely immune to fire and mostly immune to the concussion effects of an explosion— nasty) should be killed, fine by us.

Thing was, it didn't look promising for being able to preserve the lives of the four actual terrorists.

Maybe that seems odd to you. Probably, even. Those sick, twisted shits were threatening the lives of more than six hundred people for reasons that could only make sense to a religious zealot of a particularly stupid bent, so you may be wondering why we were worried about keeping them alive.

The answer is twofold; first, they were ordinary humans, and Slayers don't kill humans, not if they can possibly help it. It's a rule that dates back as far as the Slayer line, Giles says, and I believe him. Given that we're out of the shadows, operating in public, it's a damned good idea to stick to it, so that the idea of nearly twenty-two hundred super powered girls who could and would kill ordinary people didn't go making people hate and fear us.

But there was another factor… Willow's idea for punishing them was… not evil, no, but certainly _wicked,_ and perhaps the most beautifully poetic punishment I could imagine. (Given that Willow thought to turn Amy Madison into a rat and let her own panic kill her by causing her to run across a rat trap, I really shouldn't have been surprised that Willow came up with what she did, but I was, a little. The surprise, however, was totally dwarfed by the sheer, blind _admiration_ that I felt.)

We went over the info, and Buffy laid out a tentative plan. Kelly modified it a little, with Buffy's permission and cooperation, and they looked at me to see if I had any input. I hesitated, looked again at the best captured images that we had of the terrorists themselves, then put an idea out there. Buffy blinked, looked at Kelly with a raised eyebrow, and Kelly grinned at me.

"Good idea— let's see if it can be done."

Kelly called in a cop who had the expertise we needed, and he called the FBI, confirmed what he thought he knew, and confirmed that my idea could work. He pointed out what we needed to know, Buffy called Mom in, and she and I went over the pics again. Then Ripley, bless her scaly little bottom, made a suggestion that left me gaping at my own stupidity, and glad as hell that I hadn't left her at home, just intended to keep her outside the Shirk Center and safe.

"Oh, baby dragon, you are eating calf's liver tonight!" I said, grinning and kissing her head.

Then I told the others what she'd said, and Buffy slapped her forehead while Kelly and Mom shook their heads in admiration.

"Yes, she _is_ eating calf's liver tonight," Buffy said. "I'm buying. And beef jerky for dessert.

"All right— let's get the others briefed and get this done. I want to see Willow punish these guys her way so badly that it's almost scary!"

Ten minutes later, we had taken our positions, Willow had her initial spell— a basic force field to protect the hostages should the terrorists actually manage to set off a bomb, or the T'lakren demons start shooting or breathing fire their way— ready to go, and Mom and I, with Tracer and Ripley on our shoulders, had climbed into the building from two rooftop access hatches and gotten into the network of beams that held up the roof of the gymnasium where the terrorists and demons were holding the hostages.

These terrorists were, to put it bluntly, dumber than the average marshmallow. Instead of crowding the hostages together in the middle and stationing themselves around the outside of the crowd (which would have made most any rescue attempt harder, trust me), they had spread the hostages out around the outside edge of the gym, with the collapsible wooden bleachers pushed back against the wall at least (with them out and in bleacher-mode, there would have been lots of places to hide under them). The ten demons had spread out equidistant from one another between hostages and terrorists, and the four terrorists, each wearing an armed suicide bomb with a dead-man's switch, were standing in a smaller rectangle inside the arc of the demons. That had made my little idea possible, that and a fairly straightforward way of wiring the bombs. They had no timers, just the dead-man switches, so they had no tricky extra wiring, no second detonators of another sort— to which I can only say, "Bingo!"

Mom and I got to our appointed places in the rafters, moving as stealthily as we could, and we were neither seen nor heard, thanks to the subdued hubbub from the hostages and the fact that the lights, all powerful halogen bulbs in highly efficient reflector shades, all hung a ways below us, making us effectively invisible.

We positioned ourselves and waited for Ripley and Tracer to do their share.

Didn't take long for the pseudo dragons to do their thing— and then to relay our readiness to Buffy. Buffy gave us the go signal— and the battle began.


	34. Solution: Elementary

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 34: Solution: Elementary

Buffy looked at Pointy, her pseudo dragon friend, and said, "Relay to all, Pointy; Jocelyn and Chantelle are in position. On their signal or on shouting from inside the gym, we go. Demons go down first, then terrorists. Acknowledge."

All Slayers and support personnel answered in the affirmative, and Buffy sent us the go signal.

Mom and I had positioned ourselves for what we did next, up in the ceiling beams with safety lines and harnesses affixed to the beams, and Tracer and Ripley had contacted pseudo dragons in the crowd, companions of some of the hostages, and they were sending us views of the exact positions of the terrorists— and their bombs.

Simultaneously, coordinating through our pseudo dragon friends, Mom and I dropped to hang by our knees from the beams we'd been crouching on. We took a few seconds to get used to the position and the view, then I let Mom count us down, the count relayed silently through Tracer.

_*Three… two… one, throw!_*

The two crazy-discs I had cocked and ready left my hands and hissed their way down towards my targets even as Willow's force field spell took effect and made sure the crowd wouldn't be hurt even if Mom and I missed.

We didn't. Both of us hit exactly where we'd aimed, and the four wires that connected the bombs' detonators to the blasting caps in the four bundles of C4 cut neatly, rendering the bombs useless.

_*NOW!*_ Tracer shouted mentally to all points.

I dropped my excess safety line to the floor, grabbed it and dropped off the beam to slide down the line to the floor in perfect synch with Mom— even as Buffy and Piper kicked in one set of chained-up doors and Aunt Rose and Aunt Elaine kicked in the other.

Eleven Slayers, two armed and pissy Watchers, one Guardian/Watcher and a Guardian poured into the room, and Willow drifted in behind them, floating a foot or so off of the ground and watching for trouble that needed her magical expertise to put down.

We put down the demons first (though Aamira Nazari only kicked one silly on her way to her most-hated targets) and fairly quickly, and Aamira and Kelly put the four terrorists on the ground, Aamira getting three of them, beating them brutally (but not fatally) while swearing at them in Arabic, and Kelly, two years shy of fifty years old— in excellent shape, but still, forty-eight years old— beat the last one down with a pair of brass knuckles and a nightstick (to his knife and pistol). She's just too cool for words!

It had almost ended when one of the two still-standing T'lakren demons decided to make a play for hurting us.

The demon forced Aunt Rose and Aunt Elaine back by roaring out a truly HUGE gout of flame from his mouth— and while they were still recovering from the emergency dodges, the demon clasped his hands together, breathed fire into them, channeled more in from his hands— and flung the resultant ball of superheated gases (or maybe plasma, I'm not sure) at the downed terrorist that lay between Buffy, Kelly, Mom, me and Aamira.

That much sudden heat and the concussion wave as the air expanded when the ball hit the terrorist was enough to set off the C4 he had strapped to his body. Buffy, Kelly, Mom, Aamira and I would have died, very probably, if not for Aunt Dawn.

Aunt Dawn had long ago— before I was even born— worked out a way to deliver spells that required a diagram to a distant target, and she used one now, pulled a Frisbee (with a spell diagram drawn on it and cut into it) from the waistband of her pants at the back, flung it at the terrorist, and, as it passed over him just as the fireball from the demon hit him, shouted the last syllable needed to release the spell that the Frisbee carried the diagram for.

The explosion was mostly contained, and we five were only bowled over and knocked around some— I've been hurt worse sparring, really— but the explosion didn't seem to want to _stop_. It kept roiling inside Aunt Dawn's containment circle, heat and flame escaping from the top, and I saw Aunt Dawn's eyes go wide with shock.

"DOWN!" she shouted, tackling Kelly and rolling away from the circle of fiery energy. "WILLOW! SOMETHING'S WRONG!"

The spell didn't fail, not exactly— but a part of it collapsed, shot a gout of fire and… and bricks, what the _hell?_ There were no bricks anywhere near the contained bomb, just a wooden floor!

The fire and bricks shot out maybe twenty feet, didn't hurt anyone— and then a human figure shot out, flew maybe ten feet, landed on its feet, stagger-ran a few steps, coughed hard and harsh, and fell to its knees.

Willow had started a second protective spell— but even as the guy who'd come out of the explosive mess tried to straighten up, I saw something dark, solid-looking and big sort of… well, it seemed to be growing in the center of the fire, or maybe more like… coming out of the fire, only the fire would have had to be incredibly deep, much deeper than the ten foot circle of Aunt Dawn's spell.

Screw the impossibility, no time to think about it. Instead I sprinted across the floor, eyes on the guy who'd knelt there with his hands on his knees, still coughing, and I tackled him— just as the shape burst out of the gap in Aunt Dawn's spell.

A freaking _car,_ an old, antique car, on fire and tumbling end-over-end, slammed through the space where the person I'd tackled had been just a half a second before, bounced once on the gym floor— and jerked to a halt in mid-tumble, crashed to the floor maybe ten feet from the force field (which was, fortunately, opaque, to keep people from freaking out if the T'lakren breathed fire their way, or something).

I looked back and saw a thick strand of webbing running from Piper's right hand to the underside of the car, another strand from her left hand to an anchor-point on Willow's force field. Even as I looked back, Piper sort of… flicked her hands, and the webbing dropped. Awesome!

Willow, in the meantime, was chanting a spell. She gestured as she said the last syllable— and Aunt Dawn's circle and the fire within it… went away.

For a long moment, no one said a thing— then Aunt Dawn said, "What the hell was that!?"

The guy I'd tackled was moving, trying to get out of the grip of my arms, and I let him— only it wasn't a him, the clothes (heavy pants, a dress shirt and [Giles would be SO happy!] a tweed jacket) had fooled me. The English driving cap fell off her head, let a long, thick braid of black hair fall free, and the dirty, soot-covered face that looked at me in shock was feminine, if not heavily so.

Blue eyes, pale and shocked, locked on mine, and the girl said, in a raspy, choking voice, "What the bloody hell just happened, Miss? Am I… where am I?"

"Uh, the Shirk Center at Wesleyan University," I said.

"In Connecticut!? America!? That's impossible!" she said, her clipped British tones making her sound more insulted than shocked.

"Well, no, not Connecticut," I said, sitting up and waving Aunt Dawn over to check the girl over. "In Illinois. Bloomington, Illinois. But, yeah— America."

"Illinois," the girl said. She coughed, stood and looked around. "I see.

"I'm unconscious, then. Delirious. Odd, I wouldn't have thought I'd be aware of it.

"Or perhaps I'm dead? No, this certainly isn't… _extreme_ enough for any sort of afterlife, regardless of my destination.

"But this certainly isn't London, and… what on Earth…?"

She'd spotted one of the dead T'lakren demons nearby, and now she walked towards it, unsteady on her feet, but still making a reasonably straight line. Aunt Dawn veered to intercept her and I stood to follow, but the British girl sort of… shifted her weight and her shoulders, and Aunt Dawn failed to catch her. It was a neat little move, and I decided to try and work it out for myself later.

The girl dropped to one knee a couple of feet from the dead T'lakren, reached out slowly and brushed her fingers over the leathery, almost scaly red hide of its shoulder. Immediately, she jerked her fingers back and swore softly (T'lakren have a body temperature of around two hundred degrees Fahrenheit, and this one hadn't had a lot of time to cool down yet), then looked up at me as I stopped beside her.

"That," she said, nodding at the demon corpse, "is not some sort of prop, is it?"

"No, it's a dead demon," I said, confused as hell. Surely she knew about demons and such, everyone did!

"Bloody hell," she said again, her voice almost weak. "There were rumors of course… the Thule Society, the whole Nazi fascination with the occult, but I never would have believed…."

" 'Nazi fascination'— oh, crap," I said. "Miss, what year is it?"

"What— it's nineteen forty-one, of course!" she said, looking at me as thought I'd lost my mind.

"Oh, boy," I said. "Um, Aunt Dawn?"

She looked at me, then at the girl, and said, "It's probably best to just tell her, Jocelyn."

I never got the chance. The girl's eyes had been roving over me and around the room since I asked her what the year was, and now she said, "Oh, damnation. How far? How far have I come? What year is it?"

"How did you know –?" I started.

"Your watch, those weapons you carry, your shoes, the lights, this lady's clothing, and— good heavens!" She stopped and stared, her mouth open in an O of surprise, as Ripley flew down from the rafters and landed on my shoulder. "That… is a… very small… dragon."

"She's a pseudo dragon, actually," I said, not having any clue what else to say. "Different species, they never get bigger than three, three and a half feet long, and they're very friendly, as well as intelligent. Her name is Ripley."

"I… oh, damn, Mother would be so ashamed of me," she said, taking a long, shuddering breath. "I am rather afraid that I'm going… to…."

She fainted, and I caught her before she hit her head on the floor.

"Okay, let me check her over before we move her," Aunt Dawn said, moving to take her pulse and check her pupils, even as the others started cleaning up under Buffy's command (and trying to keep one eye on us while they did so).

(Also, Willow made Piper's webbing vanish— she'd acted in public as Spider-woman once, we didn't want people figuring out that she was one of us.)

Aunt Dawn finished her examination, said, "Shock. A mild concussion— probably from before she came through. Some first degree burns, a couple of second degree burns, nothing horrible.

"Willow? Come here, please?"

Willow drifted over, and Aunt Dawn said, "Wil, I think I want to get this girl out of here without the cops noticing. She's… not from around here, and she does not need our legal system trying to deal with her. Can you get her, me, Jocelyn and Sh'rin out through the roof and home?"

"Let me check with Buffy," Willow said, and looked Buffy's way. She turned, and I knew Wil was talking to her telepathically. After a moment, Buffy nodded firmly, waved at us, and Willow said, "She agrees. Let's go."

Willow grabbed me, the girl, Aunt Dawn and Aunt Sh'rin in her telekinesis, and flew us out through the roof access, then back to Buffy and Xander's house, since they had lots of spare rooms right now.

As soon as we'd been dropped off, Wil flew back to the Shirk Center to enact her personalized punishment on the three remaining human terrorists.

_Interlude: Shirk Center, Illinois Wesleyan University_

Willow returned to the big sports center to find Buffy and the others explaining what had happened, going over the limited video with the police and FBI. Fortunately, the video showed the demon killing the one terrorist who'd died, and (just as fortunately) the video feed had been interrupted by the explosion, so there was no footage of the Scooby Gang's new visitor available to the police. With Willow's force field having been opaque to keep the civilians behind it from panicking over what they might see, no one had seen her, so the police didn't know about her.

Willow landed near where several FBI agents and policemen stood next to an FBI van that contained the prisoners, and she saw Buffy coming over, the rest following her as she came, wanting to see what Willow intended to do.

"Um, excuse me, Special Agent… Sparks?" Willow said, getting the man's name from the ID that hung from his breast pocket. "Could I ask a little favor?"

Special Agent Sparks came over to Willow and shook her hand immediately, said, "Nice job with protecting the hostages, Miss Rosenberg. Of course you can ask your favor, though I can't promise to deliver."

"That's okay, I think you'll like this," Willow said.

She explained the unusual punishment that she wanted to inflict on the terrorists, and the man knew enough about Islam not to need the rationale explained to him. For a long moment after Willow finished speaking, he simply stared at her, his mouth open in shock— then he laughed, a short, sharp bark of a laugh.

"Yes, I can see how very… fitting that is," he said. He shook his head a little in admiration, then said, "I should probably say no— really, I should. But… well, sometimes you have to take a risk, and I'm due to retire next month anyway.

"Go ahead— but could you add a little rider to your suggestion for me?"

He told her what he wanted, and Willow nodded, liking his idea. "That's good. It makes this even more of what they deserve."

They went to the van, and Special Agent Sparks opened it for Willow. The three terrorists looked at her in blatant fear, and their fear didn't diminish when they saw the Slayers, Watchers and Guardians gather behind her and the FBI agent.

"Hi, guys," Willow said. She pulled a piece of heavy, tough crystal out of her pocket, blew on it, and it started to glow. The three Arabic men muttered and tried to lean away from her. "I have some things to tell you, then… then I'm going to express my religious freedom.

"Okay, all of you look at the crystal, now!"

Almost unwillingly, the three men did look at the glowing crystal, and Willow recited a short spell as they did so. Once the men had succumbed to the effect of the spell, Willow said, "Okay, here are your geasa; first, you will never again harm a human being, regardless of their race, religion or sexual orientation. Second, you will never, ever make any effort to do yourselves harm or end your own lives, including by simple inaction— you're to make every effort to live as long as you can, except where it conflicts with the first geas. Third… you're to answer honestly and completely any question put to you by any member of the FBI or other law enforcement agency.

"Understand?"

All three men said (in thick, gluey voices) that they understood, and Willow wrapped the glowing crystal in her hand, extinguishing it. She then wrapped the crystal in a heavy bandanna and tucked it in her pocket.

"How long will that last?" Special Agent Sparks asked.

"Until they die or the crystal is destroyed," Willow said smugly. She grinned and added, "When we go home, I'll box the crystal up with lots of tissue paper and Styrofoam peanuts, then put it in the vault we use to store things we want to keep safe. They'll die of old age long before it gets broken."

"And the other thing?" Special Agent Sparks said, wanting to be sure. "That's temporary?"

"Forty-eight hours," Willow said, grinning. "Long enough for you to get them to a place where other jihad-fanatic-types can see when they turn back."

"All right, then go for it," Sparks said, and stepped back.

"Hey, terrorist guys?" Willow said, smiling brightly at them. "I know that you're sitting there thinking that what you did was all right-thing-to-do and brave and insured you'll get into heaven, because that's how dummies like you interpret the words of the prophet, which, by the way, really don't say that, Mohammed was a gentle man and would hate what you're doing.

"Well… you guys made me sorta cranky. I don't want any more of that from you, or anyone else, so I'm afraid that you three are about to be made into an example of what you get when you try to kill innocent people.

"You know how your religion teaches you that some animals— pigs, for example— are totally unclean? Well, my religion teaches me that those who would murder innocent people to achieve political goals are totally, irredeemably unclean. Since you guys are unclean in my eyes, I think it's time everyone sees just how unclean you are— especially the people who think like you."

Willow lifted a few inches off of the pavement, raised her arms in a supplicating gesture while chanting a spell— and when she shouted the last syllable of her spell, three flashes of flight came from within the van. A moment later, three horrified… _squeals_ came from inside the van.

Where there had been three human terrorists now stood three pigs, struggling to get free of the badly-fitting clothing that entangled their new shapes, squealing in blind, panicked terror— and Willow smiled cheerfully at them as she closed the door of the van on them.

She turned to face the Scoobies and law-enforcement people behind her— and was met with a wave of applause and cheering that nearly deafened her.

"Remind me never to make you mad!" Special Agent Sparks said as he shook her hand again. "We'll get them to a prison that has a lot more Islamic-extremist terrorists in it, make sure that they're all watching when these three turn back to human— and be triply sure that those whose sentences are nearly up— they only _attempted_ acts of terrorism, didn't succeed— see it… so that they can spread the word."

Willow nodded, smiled, and went home with Buffy and the others, smiling a quiet little smile of satisfaction.

She'd thought long and hard about doing that— in the eyes of those men, she had doomed them to the darkest of hells, made them so unclean that they could never hope to enter paradise. But… like the Goddess, the Lord and Lady, Jesus and so many other figures in whom humans had faith, Allah was great at forgiving. If those men truly repented their actions before they died, they could still go to their version of paradise.

That made what she'd done acceptable in the eyes of her Goddess— that and the possibility that she had saved lives by throwing a new fear in the faces of those who might be tempted to play terrorist in the future.

Willow snuggled up to her wife's side and relaxed for the rest of the ride home.

_Jocelyn:_

Aunt Dawn had me carry our inadvertent guest up to a room on the second floor after a brief consultation with Xander (who was very pleased to be proven right about the wisdom of extra rooms so very soon). I laid her on the bed and waited to see if I'd be allowed to stay. Neither Aunt Dawn nor Aunt Sh'rin said anything about me leaving, so I simply sat down in a chair to one side and watched as they checked the girl over. They stripped her, needing to check for burns, cuts and bad bruises, but I decided to look away for that— after all, this girl had a really different set of morals than I did, coming from seventy-seven years in the past, and might be really, deeply embarrassed by people who weren't… healers, they weren't doctors, seeing her nude.

"Her clothes are very odd," Aunt Sh'rin said. "Especially her underclothes."

"You were probably too busy to hear, Sh'rin," Aunt Dawn said. "She's not from this time— she's from seventy-plus years ago. Things were pretty different back then. Not anywhere near as different as things were for you, but… different."

"The poor girl," Sh'rin said. "Perhaps it will not be so hard for her to adapt."

"Well, she won't be afraid of cars, at least," Aunt Dawn said in a light, teasing voice. Then she actually giggled and corrected herself. "Unless she rides in one that Buffy's driving, anyway.

"English is her native tongue, too, by her accent. But still… lots to learn, to adapt to. If we can't send her back, at least, or discover that we shouldn't."

They worked quietly for a little bit, putting homemade ointments on the girl's burns and a few small cuts, bandaged her where she needed it, then got her back into the camisole and underpants (long in the legs, almost like bloomers) she'd been wearing. After that, Aunt Sh'rin looked at me and said, "There was nothing in her pockets but what Dawn says is money of the country England, no identification or anything, Jocelyn, so we haven't a name for this girl yet. You saved her from the car-thing that passed through that spell, would you like to stay and help us tell her what has happened to her?"

"Yes, please," I said. I stretched, shifted position, then stood. "But I'm going to get something to drink— what can I get for you two?"

I got drinks for us, and some bottled water for when the girl woke up, then went back up and sat to wait for her to wake, talking quietly with Aunt Sh'rin and Aunt Dawn. After about an hour, the girl sat up very suddenly, looked around, saw the three of us and our pseudo dragons and said softly, "Damnation. Not a dream, then."

"No, not a dream," Aunt Dawn agreed. She stood and went to the bed (leaving Sunset on the couch so as not to make our guest more nervous), sat beside the girl and reached for her arm to check her pulse. The girl saw the motion and proffered her arm. Aunt Dawn took her pulse and asked, "How are you feeling?"

"Bit of a headache," the girl admitted. "A faint ringing in my ears— I suspect that is from noise, not a concussion— and rather stiff. No sharp pains, and I'd expected some, after that fire."

"We treated you for burns, concussion, a few cuts and scrapes," Aunt Dawn said. "Do your ears hurt, or is it just the ringing?"

"Just the ringing, and it's diminished from… earlier," the girl said. She glanced around, saw me, and immediately said, "Thank you, Miss. That automobile would surely have killed me, had you not knocked me aside."

"You're welcome," I said, standing. I saw the girl's eyes track on Ripley, looking a mixture of curious, delighted, and slightly apprehensive. I walked to the edge of the bed, stopped without reaching for the girl, and said, "You might remember my friend Ripley, here, and I'm Jocelyn Penobscot. The lady taking care of you is my Aunt— by friendship, not blood— Dawn Innes, and her helper sitting over there is my aunt-by-friendship Sh'rin Innes. May I ask your name?"

"Of course, I'm sorry," the girl said, and offered me her hand as she continued. "I'm Judith Holmes, and— are you quite all right?"

I'd inadvertently frozen in place, staring at the girl wide-eyed and in shock.

"Judith… Holmes?" I said slowly.

"Yes, that is what I said," the girl said. "Perhaps you should sit down, Miss Penobscot."

"Call me Jocelyn, please," I said, still not moving, even though Aunt Dawn had come around to stand beside me and had placed a hand on my forehead to check if I had a fever. "Your name… your full name… is it Judith _Jane_ Holmes?"

"Yes, it is," Judith Holmes said, looking a little wary. "How did you know that?"

I let go of her hand and sat on the floor. Just… plopped right down, mostly because my legs wouldn't keep me up anymore.

"Jocelyn?" Aunt Dawn said, kneeling beside me and taking my pulse. "Honey, what's wrong?"

"I… shock," I said. I looked at Aunt Dawn and saw how awful I must look in her worried expression. "I'm in shock, I think. Because… because now I know how Uncle Ballard felt when he met Colin, Aunt Dawn."

It took a second for Aunt Dawn to work it out— then her eyes went wide.

"Is it… like the Battle of Bloomington?" she asked. "The Matrix people, the Jedi knights, the Amberites?"

"Yes, just like that," I said. I nodded stupidly and repeated, "Just like that."

"Excuse me, but might I know why my identity shocks you so?" Judith said from the edge of the bed, where she'd moved to sit (with a sheet draped across her legs and held across her chest for modesty's sake).

I looked helplessly at Aunt Dawn, and she said, "Judith… that's a hard question to answer, and you may have a hard time believing it."

"I've already traveled god only knows how far into the future," Judith said in an exceedingly dry voice. "After that, I'm afraid that most other things will fail to be unbelievable, Mrs. Innes."

"Just Dawn, please," Aunt Dawn said. "How did you know I'm married? I took my ring off for the fight earlier, haven't put it back on yet."

"There is a pale stripe of skin where it usually rests," Judith said, even as I said, "She saw the wedding-ring-tan."

" 'Wedding-ring-tan,' yes, I like that," Judith agreed. "How did you know I'd spotted that, though?"

"Because you can't help it," I said through numb lips. "You are the daughter of Mary Russell and Sherlock Holmes, after all."

Aunt Dawn turned and gawped at me.

Judith recoiled just a bit, then said, "I did something worthy of attention in my own time, then? Then you shall have to help me return."

"I don't know about that," I said, feeling almost drunk with shock. "In the books about your parents, you're only four years old, so far."

" 'Books about my parents'— oh, of course, history books," Judith said, though she sounded a little uneasy.

"No, Judith," Aunt Dawn said, standing and pulling me up. "I'm afraid it's… more weird than that."

"Judith," I said, pulling a chair over to sit in front of her. "Judith, have you ever heard the phrase 'parallel worlds?' Or maybe 'alternate Earths?' "

"Yes, I've read most of the works of H. G. Wells, including Men Like Gods, in which several men traveled to what Mr. Wells called Utopia, which he referred to as a parallel world," Judith said. She made a face and said "I much prefer his earlier works."

"Okay," I said, sighing and pushing my hair back. "Judith, parallel worlds are real. They exist. In fact, the Utopia of that book… it probably exists somewhere. We know that parallel worlds are real, we've met people from parallel worlds on more than one occasion. Heck, my boyfriend hails from one parallel world, and my— another friend is from still another alternate Earth.

"Thing is… apparently, writers of fiction sometimes… their ideas seem to come from these parallel worlds. Maybe all the time, I don't know.

"What I'm trying to say… oh, damn."

"I'm from a piece of fiction you've read, is that it?" Judith asked, her eyes growing wide.

"I… yes," I said. I couldn't think of a way to soften that statement, honestly. "Yes, you are. The books I've read were more about your parents and their partnership, but… later in the series, along you came.

"But like I said, in the latest of the books that have been published, you're only four."

"Oh, damn," Judith said softly. She slumped a little bit, shook her head, and said, "I don't suppose you own these books? That I might… see them?"

"I own them," I said. "All of them, they're among my favorites. But seeing them… let me ask a lady who's staying with us right now, she's a psychiatrist and psychologist, before I commit to that, okay?"

"That seems… reasonable, yes," Judith agreed. "I'm… damn. What is the year? That I might at least know how far into the future I've come, if not… what world this is."

That I decided she could know, would find out on her own if I didn't tell her. "It's two thousand eighteen," I said. "Early September. Sunday the second, in fact."

"All right," Judith said. "It was March the second and a Sunday, whence I came.

"Seventy-seven and a half years and a world away. Dear lord, this may take some getting used to.

"Might I borrow a housecoat? I think I need a water closet."

Aunt Sh'rin looked puzzled, but Aunt Dawn at least knew the old fashioned term for bathroom, and went to ask Xander about borrowing something of Buffy's for Judith. While Aunt Dawn was gone, Ripley decided that Judith was in pain, and being young and not so aware of the why of the pain as the other pseudo dragons, not realizing that the shock of seeing her was at least part of the problem, she decided to go and help.

She did it right, though, didn't just go and land on Judith's lap or shoulder. Instead, she flew to the bed, landed a few inches from Judith's leg, and burbled a sound that those of us who knew pseudo dragons recognized as, "Can I help you feel better?"

Judith looked sideways at Ripley, quirked a small, slantwise smile that I knew she'd gotten from her mother, and tentatively reached over to stroke Ripley's head. "Ripley, wasn't it? You certainly are a cute little thing— who'd have thought something built along reptilian lines could manage cuteness?"

Judith looked a little surprised as Ripley flap-hopped to her lap, but didn't seem put out. As Ripley settled on her leg, feet all tucked under herself like a cat, Judith chuckled, and ran a delicate finger down the length of Ripley's head, neck and back. "And you know you're cute, I can— good heavens!" She started, then looked down at Ripley and up at me. "She… spoke to me. Mentally, I mean."

"Pseudo dragons are telepathic and empathic," I said. "They read thoughts and emotions, and can project both as well."

"This is going to take a bit of getting used to," Judith said, shaking her head ruefully. "However, you may rest assured, Ripley— I like you, too."

Ripley answered by starting to purr, and Judith sat there and stroked her silently, a little smile playing around her lips, until Aunt Dawn came in with a robe for her, then went to Aunt Sh'rin and gently turned her around even as I turned around myself. (Aunt Sh'rin, not much on body modesty to begin with, saw no reason for there to be any modesty at all between healer and patient.) Ripley flapped back over to my shoulder, and Judith stood up and put on the robe.

"Is that the door to the water closet on the far wall?" she asked, and we all turned back around.

I managed not to laugh at the sight of her in Buffy's robe. Buffy's five-two, and Judith stands five-ten (not surprising, her mother was tall, and so was her father). I said, "Yes, that's the bathroom. Water closet."

"Thank you," Judith said, and disappeared into the room.

I dropped back to the chair I'd been using, shook my head violently, and sighed. "This is just… weird. How did Uncle Ballard handle it?"

"A lot like you are," Aunt Dawn said, and Aunt Sh'rin laughed and nodded as she continued. "Shook his head a lot, bemoaned the weirdness, then pulled himself together and _told us what he knew_ about our guest."

"Uh, point," I said. I looked at the closed bathroom door and said, "Short form; Laurie R. King has written twelve novels featuring Mary Russell, a British-American Jewish lady who, at fifteen, while living with an aunt in Sussex, England after her parents death, met a semi-retired Sherlock Holmes one day while wandering the countryside. They spoke, she startled him with her intelligence and powers of observation, he took her under his wing as an apprentice. Six years later, after she reached her legal majority and had proven herself fit to be Holmes's partner in investigations, they were forced by circumstances to acknowledge that they had fallen in love. They married in 1921, solved many cases together, and, after returning from San Francisco in 1924 and solving an immediately-entangling case, Mary discovered that she was pregnant. In March of 1925, Mary gave birth to their daughter, named Judith Jane for Mary's mother and Sherlock's best friend, John Watson. The girl is four by the twelfth book, and already exhibiting signs of having her parents' intellectual capacity, speaking and reading English at the level of a freshman in high school, and has already exhibited a talent for and love of music. Already played the tin whistle, was learning the piano. And that, I'm afraid, is all I know. The novels haven't caught up with when Judith came from.

"Oh— and no acknowledgment of the supernatural at all in the books."

"Anyone else in the family read the books?" Aunt Dawn asked.

"Mom has, and Stephen's read the first couple, is on my copy of the third," I said. "Thomas Dunlap has read them, so I wouldn't be surprised if Graham has. Past that… I don't think so."

"All right," Aunt Dawn said. "I'll go prepare them and talk to Wil— we need to find out if it's possible and safe to send Judith home. You guys bring Judith with you, which means finding her some clothes, Jocelyn— hers were pretty badly damaged by whatever that fire that hit her was— and prepping her a little."

"You're the fashion-lady, Aunt Dawn," I said, shrugging. "Or at least more than I am. Can you guess what sizes we should get her from the emergency stores?"

"Yeah, hang on," Aunt Dawn said. She patted her pockets, found a pad of paper and a pen, wrote down sizes for sweats, T-shirt, panties, bra and deck shoes, gave me the sheet.

As Aunt Dawn went off to talk to people I looked at Ripley, asked her to call Giles's friend Bookmark, relay the appropriate sizes to him, and have him send someone over with clothes for Judith. Five minutes later, Linnea, Aunt Dawn's bio-daughter, brought the stuff, handed it to me, hugged me and her Sh'rin-mom, and took off again. Less than a minute later, a much cleaner-faced and composed-looking Judith Holmes came out of the bathroom.

"I don't suppose there's some clothing around that would— ah, you anticipated my request, thank you." She took the pile, disappeared back into the bathroom, and Aunt Sh'rin and I heard some muttering that sounded a mixture of sour and amused by tone. In very short order, Judith came out in sweats, a T-shirt, socks and deck shoes. She had her own folded under-things in her hand, and said, "Is there by chance a laundry machine in the house?"

"Oh, sure, just throw your stuff in the hamper in there until we figure out what's what, please," I said, and Judith went back into the bathroom for a moment, and I took a good look at her as she went in and came out.

Five-ten, yes, and actually thin, not just slender. She couldn't have been much over a hundred and twenty pounds, though she did have muscle tone on her thin arms. A small waist made her narrow hips look less narrow, and she had small breasts— easy to disguise herself as a guy, what with the A-cups. Her shoulders were just broad enough to avoid looking narrow, her arms thin, and her hands… long, slender and tipped with long, slender, graceful fingers. Her face was long and thin, but not homely— her sharp cheekbones and slightly angular jaw were attractive, her bright blue eyes in their deep sockets actually worked well with her slightly long and prominent nose. Her lips were the only truly feminine feature on her face, slightly full, nicely curved, and naturally pink. Her hair— thick, heavy, raven's-wing black and hanging in a braid to her waist— looked as though it were only slightly naturally wavy. She wasn't pretty, really, but she was attractive, and I got a real kick out of seeing those features, the blending of two of my favorite fictional characters.

She came out a moment later and said, "I believe that the shower-bath is perhaps the most complicated I've ever seen. I do hope there will be time to try it— I still smell of smoke."

"I imagine there will be," I said, sitting down on the couch with Aunt Sh'rin and motioning Judith to the chair I'd vacated. She sat down and I tried to decide where to start, since Aunt Sh'rin had settled down and turned to me. There were things Judith had to know, but in what order should I tell her those things? Well, okay, most likely to shock her (short of the supernatural) first. I said, "Judith, there are a few things you need to know to… to avoid shocking you, or even… well, scandalizing you."

"Aside from the existence of demons, you mean?" she said with a wry smile. As Judith spoke, Shimmer, Aunt Sh'rin's white-but-picked-up-colors-from-around-her pseudo dragon, flew over and landed on the arm of her chair, and, when Judith moved her arms to make it plain that she was welcome, into Judith's lap. "That wouldn't scandalize me, I suppose, though father might well have become… apoplectic, I think."

"I can imagine," I said with a sigh. "Look, there's no really gentle way to say this, or at least none that I can think of, so I'm just going to say it; the world's attitudes— or at least those in America, Europe, Australia and Japan (though not so completely in Japan, I don't think) towards some sorts of relationships have changed since 1941— some, at least. The attitudes here in the nineteen-twenties were pretty much identical to what they were in the books with your folks in them, anyway.

"What I'm trying to say is that… well, being homosexual or bisexual in this time is not nearly the problem that it was in the time you come from. Yes, there are still people who don't approve, but not nearly so many, nor so automatically. In addition, relationships other than the standard heterosexual monogamy are… more common. Not hugely common, not at all, in the rest of the world— but in my family and my extended family, they are common, and we're all very relaxed about demonstrating our affection for each other. People… well, they may tone it down some if you stay for a while, but they may not, or might forget to. So you may see women kissing women romantically, or, if some of our friends come by, men kissing men romantically, or… well, look, I'm in a romantic relationship with two other people, a girl and a guy. We all love each other and we… express that physically."

"Ah," Judith said, blushing slightly. "Well, rest assured, I have never judged a person based on who or how they love— that would be quite silly, actually. I am in no way religious, so I certainly couldn't base such feelings on theological convictions, and since it harms no one, I see no reason to feel any animosity towards those who feel romantic affection for people of their own gender— or for both genders, for that matter. And I have read Mr. Wells' works on the future he believes in, and he does mention Free Love, at least in passing."

"That's a relief," I said, blowing out a sigh. "I sort of figured you had to be too smart for bigotry, but… the environment we grow up in does have something to do with who we become.

"That being said… I'm not the only one who is involved in a non-standard relationship in my extended family. Aunt Sh'rin, here, is in a five-sided marriage— well, relationship, marrying more than one person still isn't legal, but they think of themselves as married— which includes Aunt Dawn, my aunts Rose and Elaine, and my Uncle Ballard, and they have a total of six kids. Those are all friendship-aunts-and-uncles, not blood, but still, they're family. Then Willow— the lady in the dress back at the gymnasium where you appeared?— she's married to another woman, Lydia Heller, and they have an adopted daughter. My mom and dad have a girlfriend. And… I think that's it, for unusual relationships. I just… didn't want you to be shocked."

"Thank you," Judith said, and I noted that she still had a trace of blush going. She looked down at Shimmer and said, "I shall do my best not to react overtly."

Aunt Dawn stuck her head in then, saw us all sitting, and looked at Judith. "Judith? Are you ready to meet the rest of our admittedly huge family? And to swap explanations and backgrounds?"

"I very much am ready, thank you," Judith said, standing as Shimmer launched herself back to Aunt Sh'rin's arms. "I should warn you, I'm insufferably curious, I never let go of anything until I'm satisfied, and I may very well drive everyone insane with my incessant questions."

"Don't worry," Aunt Dawn said, and grinned at her. "We're used to it."

We headed for Giles's place and a whole bunch of questions, and Judith chuckled as she followed Aunt Dawn out of the room.


	35. The Game's Afoot

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 35: The Game's Afoot

We got to Scooby Mansion and went into the living room to find my whole extended family, plus Alina Sidorova, Abigail van Horne, Rhonda McIntosh and Aamira Nazari, the four Slayers who'd accompanied us on the mission to Illinois Wesleyan. Since I knew the most (admittedly, a small most, but the most) about Judith, the introductions fell to me. I went slowly and carefully, included all the pseudo dragons, and, for the moment, left off descriptions of position, except for saying that Giles was in charge of everything that wasn't actual family business.

"And this," I finished, "is Judith Holmes. Judith is from another Earth, like Colin and Piper, though hers isn't the same as either of theirs. Her mother is Mary Russell-Holmes… and her father is Sherlock Holmes."

"Holy crap!" my brother Stephen said, jerking to stand at almost-attention. "You're the daughter of the two greatest detectives ever!?"

"No, not quite," Judith said with a small, slightly nervous smile, probably made less nervous by the several pseudo dragons who'd gone to sit near her or on her lap or shoulders. She had Bookmark on her lap, Phantom on one shoulder, Fog on the other and Glitter in her arms, and all of them (including Judith) looked quite content with the arrangement. "Being the child of the two greatest detectives of my world would have involved an impossibility, as well as incest, since even Mother admitted that both father and Uncle Mycroft were her superiors in matters of deduction."

Stephen snorted laughter, grinned at Judith and said, "Okay, so… second and third greatest detectives ever, how's that?"

"That works quite well, thank you," Judith said. She looked at Colin and said, "Jocelyn mentioned that her boyfriend is from a parallel world, and introduced you as her boyfriend. May I ask… were my parents real on your world, sir, or fictional, as they are here?"

"Your father was fictional," Colin said. "I don't know about your mother, I never read the books Jocelyn's mentioned, I'm afraid, so I don't know if they existed where I come from."

"Piper?" Judith asked, looking curious.

Piper opened her mouth, frowned a little, and said, "I can't swear to it, but I think I saw a book with both your parents' names in the back cover copy. Something my Aunt May was reading, but I didn't read it. Still… does the title the Beekeeper's Apprentice mean anything to you, Judith?"

"It does, yes," Judith said, looking a little shocked. "Father had retired to Sussex and was raising bees, working on a book about them, when mother met him."

"Also, that's the title of the first book of the series," Stephen said. He smiled tentatively and said, "If it helps, Judith, it's a great book."

"Good lord," Judith said with a sigh. "This is… a bit of a shock. I'm _fictional_."

"No, you really aren't," I said, and took her hand, squeezed it gently. "You're real. Colin's real. Piper's real. You three… come from somewhere else, that's all. Somewhere that an author from here has tapped into, though she probably has no idea that she's done so.

"But you're real, Judith. As real as me, as real as anyone here. I'm pretty sure it's not possible to hold hands with a fiction, after all."

"I… yes, all right," Judith said. She took a deep breath and squeezed my hand back. "Thank you, Jocelyn."

"No problem," I said. I sat down beside her on the loveseat, kept hold of her hand, she probably needed some contact right now. "Now… shall we explain who and what we are, what we do first, or would you rather tell us more about yourself first?"

"You _were_ listening when I told you that I'm insatiably curious, weren't you?" Judith said, giving me a small grin. "To me, you people and your world are fascinating— please, tell me about this Earth and your place in it."

"Giles, this is your ball," I said, and sat back to listen as he explained about the origins of this Earth.

Giles spoke of the Old Ones, the lesser demons that came after, the calling of the power of the Slayer, the binding of it to a girl. He told of thousands of years of a single Slayer, how Buffy's death and resurrection had made one into two, how her finding of the Scythe towards the end of the War of the First and Willow's using it to activate all potential Slayers everywhere had changed the rules again. Then he told her about Aunt Rose and Aunt Elaine contacting the Scooby Gang early on, telling them that there were two Slayers right here in Bloomington, how they'd come running to see why that should be, ended up staying and setting up headquarters here. He told of how the slow escalation of war with Amy Madison had led to the Battle of Bloomington, and that had led to the revelation of the reality of the supernatural to the whole world.

"So now, we do not operate in secrecy," Giles said. "Unfortunately, neither do the enemy. The events that led to your arrival here were triggered by terrorists who had hired demonic mercenaries to aid them in their actions against a group of college students.

"Judith… you are welcome to stay here until we determine both if we can get you home… and if it is safe to send you home."

"Why would it not be safe?" Judith asked.

"Things like this have happened before, Judith," Giles said very gently. He took a deep breath and said, "People have been coming here from parallel worlds from millennia, young lady, there are records of this in the annals of the Watchers' Council. Sometimes, we were able to help those people to return home— other times not. Once we learned to check certain things, we learned that if we could not send a person home, it was… was sometimes because… in their own world, they were meant to die at or shortly after the moment of transference."

Judith went very pale, squeezed my hand very hard, and said in a low voice, "Oh. I see."

For a long moment, no one spoke, then she said, "And since Jocelyn saved me from dying under a car that came through this accidental gateway after me, you think that such might have been meant to be my fate… in my own universe."

"It may well be," Giles said, as gently as such a thing can be said. "We can find out, and we will. But… I think you should know, Judith, that should it not be possible for you to go home, you will not be without a place to stay, and I hope not without friends. You will be welcome here— here specifically, in my house— or with Xander and Buffy. We have already decided upon this. Or with Whitey and Chantelle, or Willow and Lydia, or Vincent and Vi."

"You would… accept me into your homes, just like that?" Judith asked, blinking in confusion.

"Not so much 'just like that,' Judith," Kelly said. She smiled and indicated the pseudo dragons who'd worked close to Judith. "Pseudo dragons are, in our experience, unfailing judges of character, Judith, and all of the ones in our family seem to like you a great deal. When telepathic, empathic people who love intelligence and good character like you… well, we pay attention."

Ian spoke up then, a content look in his eyes. "This is what they do, Judith. They're all modest about it, but this is them. They take care of people. If you're a good person and you need help? They give it. And since the pseudo dragons like you, there isn't any doubt about you being good."

"Nice try, Ian," Xander said, "but you should have said 'we,' guy— because you're one of us."

"Thanks," Ian said, and grinned. "Yeah. We. We _like_ taking care of people."

"I see," Judith said. She stared down at Glitter for a long moment, and the first pseudo dragon to come here looked back warmly. "Well… I admit, it is a relief to know that if I cannot go home, I will have a place to stay. But I do hope you aren't offended that I hope it doesn't come to that. I… would miss Mother terribly and she'd be very… very alone."

"No, we aren't offended," I said, smiling at her. "I'd hate to have to leave my family, everything I've ever known. So being offended would be hypocritical of me, and I try to avoid that. So does everyone here, so… no offense taken."

"Thank you," Judith said. "All right… now I suppose it is my turn."

She told the others what I'd told my Guardian Aunts earlier, how her mother had met Sherlock Holmes in 1915, when he was in his early fifties, and apprenticed to him. She saw the look of confusion on Giles face and said, "Oh, I see. Uncle John's fiction about Father's age is all that you ever knew, of course."

"I'm sorry?" Giles said, looking confused.

"Uncle John— Dr. John Watson, who chronicled my father's early career— he lied a little, Giles, about Father's age when they met. He felt that no one would ever believe that a man of Father's age could have learned and done all that he had, so he aged father a good bit in his stories. Everyone is surprised by it, don't feel bad.

"Father was fifty-nine when he and mother married not long after her twenty-first birthday— in very early January of 1921."

"I see," Giles said. "I suppose there is a certain logic to Watson's thinking, yes. Do please go on."

Judith told of her parents early adventures together, of how she'd been conceived while they were returning to England from America via boat, been born in March of 1925. From there, she didn't have to explain much for a great many years, just glossed over things a great deal. She had loved music from her earliest memory, learned to play the tin whistle very well by the age of four, started on the piano, and, over the years, learned more instruments and to sing. Her parents had stayed home with her as much as they could, wanting to raise her themselves, rather than have servants do it. There had been times, sometimes days, sometimes a couple of weeks, once a whole two months, when she'd been left in the care of Mrs. Hudson, her parents' housekeeper, and her Uncle John. ("An uncle by dint of friendship, not blood, as are your aunts and uncle, Jocelyn," she said.)

She had been educated at home for several years, and had come away with a more complete education than most girls her age could dream of having. Her parents had taught her the basics (to college level, at least for the forties) of all the practical sciences, she read so fast that it left her frustrated for lack of reading material sometimes, she could do maths up to calculus, she had a solid grounding in literature, and a surprisingly firm grasp of comparative religions.

"Mother and father both told me what they believed and why, then let me choose my own path," Judith said, smiling a little. "I think it vexed mother that I came away an atheist like father, but she never held it against me."

By the age of fifteen, she played five instruments at professional levels— the guitar, the piano, the flute, the violin, and her favorite, the cello— and at the start of the school year in September of 1940, she had entered the Royal Academy of Music with the intent of studying composition and continuing her playing.

"Mother wanted me to come home to Sussex when the Blitz started only a few days after I entered school, but Father, Uncle Mycroft and I talked her out of it," Judith said, and her voice seemed to pick up a little vibrato, as though she were heading for an uncomfortable subject. "Then… then when I went home for Christmas Holidays, someone… someone assassinated father."

She squeezed my hand very hard when she said that, and Glitter pressed closer to her, as did all of the other pseudo dragons, trying to help as best they could. She stayed silent for a moment, hugged Glitter one-armed, squeezed my hand again, then went on.

"Uncle Mycroft suspected that it was a German agent, that it was because they didn't want Father working for the Foreign Office," Judith said. "They shot him on the road as he was coming to pick me up at the train station, from a long way off, with a very powerful rifle. He… not even Father could see it coming.

"Mother went… she went constructively insane. She didn't eat, didn't sleep, did nothing but work to find Father's killer between his burial and the actual catch. She did find him, he was a Nazi agent, and when he tried to kill Uncle Mycroft, she killed him before he could. Then she… she came and found me, told me what she'd done, that she'd found the man who killed Father and made him pay— then she collapsed on the couch in my rooms and slept for two days."

When Mary Russell woke from her cathartic sleep, she hadn't, as Judith had feared, tried to get Judith to leave school and come home. Instead, she had moved to London herself, wanting— perhaps even needing— to be close to both her daughter and her husband's brother. She went to work for Mycroft Holmes, did intelligence work for him, couriered messages that could not be entrusted to the wireless, whatever was needed. She spent the time she was in London with Judith whenever possible, and the two became closer than ever.

"Then… then I heard that there was going to be a demonstration of electromagnetics at the Royal College of Science today— I mean, the today it was before I came here— and I decided to go, as my first scientific love is the field of physics," Judith said. "They were working on some advances in Radio Direction Finding— I believe the Americans call it 'radar'— and I wanted to see.

"They'd only started the demonstration when the bombs began to fall. I don't know if they had targeted the College, but they may have, since the Radio Direction Finder advances would almost certainly have aided in the war effort.

"I got outside, was headed for a shelter, and a bomb hit the building I was running alongside. The next thing I know… I was in the gymnasium at the university where we met."

"I still wish I knew how my containing an explosion like that opened a gate to your world," Aunt Dawn said. "That shouldn't have happened."

"It's one of those things that happens when physics and magic meet, Dawnie," Willow said. "Sometimes… the wacky just happens. Maybe there was some sort of sympathetic magical reaction between the explosion caused by the T'lakren and the explosion of the bomb, or… well, almost anything."

"Can you… I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude," Judith said, "but could you please… do whatever it is you must do to see if I can go home, please? I… Mother has lost enough, with losing father, and, to be frank, so have I. If I cannot go home, I… I will adapt, but not knowing… that is very difficult."

"Of course, Judith," Willow said. "It wouldn't be a good idea to send you home before you've had a night's sleep— the body needs to be as healthy as possible before a trip like that— but finding out if you _can_ go home, that won't be a strain on you."

Willow went and got her magic kit, saw Judith's unease when we came back, and said, "Would you rather we went and did this somewhere more private, Judith?"

"I— yes, please," Judith said. She looked around at my family, said in a low voice, "I don't mean to be rude, truly I don't, but… I may well react strongly, and that is… difficult for me, at least in front of a large number of people."

"Of course," Giles said. "Willow, you may use the workroom in the basement here, if that will suit your needs."

"That works fine," Willow said. She waved Judith after her, then stopped when Judith hesitated. "Is there something else, Judith?"

"I… a large number of people would make me uncomfortable," Judith said, "but I would not like to be totally alone. Jocelyn, might I ask…?"

"Sure," I said, and stood to follow her and Wil. "I like watching Wil work, I like you, and Ripley might not forgive me if I didn't go with you, because she thinks you're the coolest thing since beef jerky, I think."

I went down with them, listened to Willow explain what she was doing while she worked, held Judith's hand for moral support when Wil cast her spell— and watched in horror and sympathy as Judith saw the fate she'd go home to if she returned, a horrible death by fire while pinned down by a burning car. Wil shut the spell down once it became obvious what was happening, and Judith, tears streaming down her face, rounded on Willow.

"Can't you— can't you just send me somewhere else?" Judith cried. "Across the street, or— or to my rooms?"

"I can't, honey," Willow said. "If I send you back, the only time and place that the laws that govern magic will let me send you is that time and place.

"Judith, I'm sorry, I'd help if I could, but there's just no way, not any."

"I don't want— my mother, she can't be left alone, I can't do that to her!" Judith cried, weeping openly now.

"Judith, I'm sorry, but she loses you either way," Willow said, tears begin to overflow her own eyes. "I'm sorry, but there are rules, even in magic. Even I can't break them."

I had hold of Judith's hand, wanting her to have some contact, and I could feel her shuddering as she said, "I need… to be alone for a while. Could I…?"

"Do you want to stay inside, or would you rather be outside?" Wil asked quietly.

"Outside. Trees. Grass."

"Okay, here," Wil said, and led us to the door that led out of the basement. "Giles owns everything to the tree line to the right, and to the end of the woods on the other side of the stream, Judith, and Whitey owns what he doesn't on the left, to the tree line way to the left, and the same distance past the stream. No one will bother you— but I think you won't be completely alone, not unless you truly need it. No human company, maybe— but not alone."

Glitter was sitting in a tree not far off, watching Judith with sad eyes, and Judith held her arms out gratefully. Glitter flew to Judith's arms, and the girl walked off towards the stream carrying Aunt Rose's friend and sobbing softly.

"Damn it," I said softly. "You know, it really, really sucks to find out that two of my favorite fictional characters are real, but one of them has died and the other is losing her daughter only months later."

"I know," Wil said. "Also, since she was supposed to die, she can't even send something to her mom, like Colin did. That would violate the same rules that keep me from sending her back."

Willow went back inside, but I decided to sit outside and wait for Judith. Richter came out to sit with me, and ended up half on my lap with Ripley dozing on his shoulders. Diane came out to talk to me, chuckled a little at the sight of dragon sleeping on dog, and spoke softly so as not to wake my friend.

"Dawn tells me that Judith was asking about the books featuring her parents, and that you said you have them all," Diane said. "Also that you said you should speak to me before letting her read them, for which I say, 'smart girl, thank you,' you smart girl, you."

"Well, yeah," I said. "I don't know— if it were me, they'd make me feel sad, but… I don't know if it would be a bad-sad or a relief-sad."

"I think that varies from person to person," Diane said, rubbing the head of Endorphin, her own pseudo-dragon pal. "I haven't read those books, but I am a Holmes fan— I may have to borrow yours, later— and I can't imagine any child of Sherlock Holmes being okay with not reading those books. She'll _need_ to, Jocelyn.

"But I'd appreciate it if you'd give them to her one at a time, ask her to… not read them all too fast, and tell her that I'd like to talk to her between books, if she'll consent to that."

"I'll do that, and let you know her answer to the request," I said. "Thanks, Diane."

"Never a problem." Diane stood, stretched and gave me a grin. "Think of the business cards I can make up, Jocelyn; 'Diane Hodges, Psychiatrist/Psychologist, counselor to the Watchers' Council, specialist in multiversal trauma.' "

I chuckled a little, and Diane went in. A half an hour later, about five-thirty, Judith came back to the house, walking out from the Glade, still carrying Glitter, and looking… less hurt. She came straight to me, hugged Glitter once, and let her fly off to find Aunt Rose, then sat down on the side of the patio glider not taken up by my puppy.

"Thank you for letting me be alone, Jocelyn," Judith said, reaching over to let Richter sniff her hand. "Hello, fellow, what's your name?"

"You're welcome," I said, and squeezed her shoulder. "This is my puppy, Richter. He's harmless, unless you count him maybe crushing you with affection."

"Puppy, eh? A mongrel, I can see, but… puppy?" Judith scratched Richter's ears, and he grinned at her and thumped his tail. "He's big already, is he attempting gigantic?"

"He's only about five months old, according to what the vet said," I said. "So yeah— I'm expecting gigantic."

"Good heavens," Judith said. "Do you know what breeds went into his makeup?"

"The vet made educated guesses," I said, grinning. "Part Newfoundland, part something else huge— possibly Irish Wolfhound, the vet thinks, and also thinks that may leave the poor dog really confused." At her questioning look, I said, "The vet was sure he's part wolf."

Judith didn't laugh, but she did smile a little at the joke. Good enough for right now.

After several moments of just petting Richter, Judith said, "I should speak to Giles about earning my keep. There must be something I can do to earn room and board."

"Oh, please," I said, rolling my eyes. "As smart as you are? Pretty sure that you're so far past correct that you're into preordained."

She looked puzzled for a moment, then seemed to get that I was attempting a joke, and gave me a wan smile.

"On the other hand," I said, "Giles is filthy rich, and can afford to just help you, no strings attached. For a while, at least, I'm pretty sure that's a good idea, Judith, because you've been kicked around emotionally, shocked, scared, surprised, had your worldview turned upside-down, and lost your home in a way that I can't even imagine. So… time to adjust, kind of necessary.

"Don't push yourself. I know, saying that to you might be stupidity on my part, given your ancestry, but I have to try."

Again the wan smile, and she said, "I'll try to… take things slowly, at least for a time, but I'd very much like to read the novels you have about my parents."

"Well, I did get to speak Diane about that— the psychiatrist and psychologist who's staying with us— and she didn't object, really, but she had a request," I said, and told her what Diane had asked, finished with, "It seems like a really good idea to me."

"Yes, I can agree to that," Judith said. She hesitated a moment, then looked me in the eyes and said, "Jocelyn, Giles seemed to think that your parents might let me stay with them. Do you think they might?"

"I imagine so, yes," I said. Daddy had made a second guest room in the basement once we got down to one, just in case, since Xander had raised such a good point about our guest-slash-adoption habits.

"I'd like that," Judith said. She looked at me, and let me see the hurt she felt. "I like you. You… I want to be your friend. I think I need to have a friend close by, for a while, at least."

"Works for me," I said, then corrected myself at her puzzled look. "I mean— I like the idea, too, Judith. I like you a lot, and the idea of being your friend makes me happy."

"All right, thank you," she said, and squeezed my hand briefly. "Shall we go in, that I might speak to Giles?"

We went in and found Giles in the study (after passing through the kitchen and listening to Judith's stomach rumble mightily). I left her to speak to him alone at her request (crowding her right then was a horrible idea, I knew that), and Daddy went in when Giles called for him. When they all came out at supper time, Judith looked… content, I guess. Like they'd reached an agreement she could live with.

Judith ate better than I'd expected, enough to keep from getting nagged even by Kelly, and made a point of complimenting her, since she'd cooked that night.

"Perhaps one day soon, I could cook?" Judith suggested. "Mrs. Hudson taught me quite a bit, and I think you'd all enjoy her lamb chops."

"Pick a time, give us a list, we'll set it up," Kelly said breezily. "No such thing as too many people who can cook, not around here.

"On the subject of cooking… you're going to stay with us, aren't you?"

"Yes, I have worked out an arrangement with Giles, and I'll be staying with Whitey and his family," Judith said, giving me a little nod.

"All right then, we have a long tradition of 'welcome to the family' dinners, Judith," Kelly said. "Is there anything special that you'd like? If we can't fix it, we'll send out for it."

For a moment, Judith looked thoughtful, then she said, "I've never had it anywhere but in a restaurant, but there was this little restaurant in London that served Italian cuisine, and I used to go there for their meat tortellini with marinara and meatballs. Do you think you could manage that? I rather love it."

"Absolutely," Kelly said. "I'll make the tortellini and the meatballs. Jocelyn, can you do the sauce?"

"Sure, I can do that," I said. "I'll make it tonight, put it in the fridge, and start it in the crock pot tomorrow morning before school."

"Excellent," Kelly said. "I'll bring the meatballs over tonight, you can put them in with the sauce tomorrow morning. Say… four gallons of sauce?"

"Lots of meatballs, cool," I said. "Four gallons it is."

(With the number of people we regularly fed? Of _course_ we had huge cookware— including a six-gallon crock pot that also served as a turkey roaster for up to a twenty-five pound bird.)

As Joyce and Aunt Elaine started cleaning up while the rest of us just sort of sat and lazed around, Joyce suddenly stopped in her tracks, a faraway look on her face. After a moment, that look turned into a huge, delighted grin, and she said, "Yes! Leia's laid eggs! Five, she says, she's nesting on the top shelf of my closet!"

We all applauded, even Judith, who'd met Leia earlier and remembered the name. By that time, all the other recent babies had hatched and found their friends among the Slayer girls in attendance.

After a moment of working, Joyce started singing as she worked, an old rock song called Saint Theresa, from before either of us were born. Judith sat up and listened carefully— and slowly she started to smile. When Joyce finished that song, Judith said, "Could you sing that again, please?"

Joyce looked around in surprise, but nodded and started singing Saint Theresa again— and Judith sang it with her, perfectly! She'd memorized the lyrics in a single hearing, and her pure voice, a little deeper than Joyce's, wrapped around Joyce's and matched her perfectly while the rest of us sat and stared and listened raptly.

When they finished, Joyce came over and hugged Judith, grinned at her and said, "You are incredible. I have a good voice, I know that— but yours is _awesome_."

"I'd say your voice is more 'very good,' than merely 'good,' Joyce," Judith said. "But… you've not been trained, have you?"

"No, not really," Joyce said. "Oh, some pointers from the chorus teacher last year, but no real training."

"If you like, I could teach you some things," Judith said, her voice not-quite-hopeful.

"I'd like that a lot, please," Joyce said. "Um, are you going to school with us?"

"No, not yet, at any rate," Jocelyn said. "Giles needs to test me on where I should be, and he seems of the opinion that I'll out-strip secondary education, and very likely be ready for college."

"Okay, so… how about after supper sometimes?" Joyce suggested. "After school is more Slayer training, then I like to do as much of my homework as I can before supper."

"That would be fine," Judith said. "We can start tomorrow night, if you like?"

"Yes, please!" Joyce said, and they shook on it before Joyce turned back to her cleaning chores.

"Is that a sample of modern music?" Judith asked.

"Not quite," Dad said. "That song is… more than twenty years old, and it was done in a slightly older style called 'folk rock.' However… well, if you'll agree to sing something solo, I'll bet we could get Joyce to sing something contemporary."

_Thank you, Daddy! I want to hear her sing solo, I do!_ I thought.

Judith sang a song I recognized, but only because I'd watched an old movie called the Rocketeer with Xander once, and that movie, set in 1938, had the song Begin the Beguine in it. Her voice sort of took me away, and I didn't mind that at all.

After that, Joyce sang a very up-tempo song by a relatively new group called Bright Lady, and I could see that Judith liked it (I liked it myself), though I thought she might take a while to get used to the rhythms and tempos of modern music.

The two of them took turns singing for a couple of hours, and we all just relaxed and listened. Judith gave Joyce a few pointers here and there, about breath control and sustaining notes, and I could hear the improvement right away.

When they finally stopped, it was almost nine, and we all split up and headed for our various houses. Giles stopped Xander, took him into the study, but I paid no real attention to that— I was trying to catch Daddy alone, which finally I did when he stopped at our back porch for a cigarette.

"Daddy, can I ask for a… a _possible_ waiver on the 'sleep alone on school nights' rule?" I said as I snuggled under his arm. "Purely non-sexual reasons, honestly."

"Could you explain a little more before I decide, please?" Dad asked.

"Judith," I said. "She may… Daddy, her whole _world_ got ripped away from her. She may need to not be alone. She may be okay, too, I don't know, and her parents would have tried to make her… self-sufficient enough to be okay, but how do you prepare someone for a loss like _this?_ Like everything you ever _knew_ being just… yanked out from under you?"

Daddy hugged me, said against my hair, "You make a good case. Rule waived, regarding Judith— should she need it. For the duration of her recovery. I'll tell your mother."

"Thanks, Daddy," I said, and just snuggled into his arms for a minute before popping up on my toes to kiss his cheek. "I'm going to go sneak a little Colin-and-Piper-time in before bedtime, though. See you in a bit."

Mom was showing Judith around the house when I went in, and I didn't interrupt other than to ask whether Judith was going to be moved into the first floor spare room or the one in the basement.

"Actually, I'd prefer the basement, if that's all right," Judith said. "I'd imagine fewer windows down there, and I have a devil of a time sleeping with the sun coming in the windows."

"No problem, Judith," Mom said. "Jocelyn, Piper and Colin went on up. I think they're expectin' you to join them."

"They are," I said. "I'll come say good night in a bit, Judith."

I went upstairs, made love with Colin and got seriously handsy with Piper for a while, then washed up briefly and went downstairs in shorts and a T-shirt. Judith had been given a second set of sweats, etc, for the next day, and had used the shower off of Mom, Dad and Gwen's room. She sat in the living room, toweling her hair dry, and I sat beside her and offered to help and to brush it for her. She agreed, and it didn't take too terribly long, as it hadn't tangled. I offered to braid it, and she chuckled a little.

"That I'll do myself," she said, blushing almost scarlet. "I know it's odd, but for me that is… _very_ intimate." At my questioning look, she said in a low voice, "Mother allowed no one to braid her hair besides Father, and I could see the… intimacy in that act, the few times I saw it, so it has assumed that same significance in my mind."

"Okay, that makes sense," I said. I stood and said, "If you can do it in the kitchen, we can talk while I put together the spaghetti sauce for tomorrow."

She agreed, and followed me into the kitchen, empty except for Abe dozing by the back door, and she braided that thick, heavy fall of hair while I put together the spaghetti sauce while browning a big batch of ground beef to go into it— meatballs _and_ meat sauce, how can you go wrong? (Yes, over beef tortellini— I'm an omnivore who leans towards carnivore, okay?) Judith watched me work and talked about the things Giles was going to do to help her "catch up" to the early twenty-first century. A directed reading list, a couple of films, and tomorrow, her first foray out into the rest of the world; Kelly and Mom were going to take her shopping for clothes and such.

"One thing I like very much about the world of here-and-now," Judith said after finishing her description of her planned educational regimen and outing. "I love that there seems to have been a great deal of lessening of restrictions on gender matters. Women can wear trousers and not be thought less feminine, they can work at jobs once thought to be masculine… I do like that."

"Yeah, I can't imagine being stuck in a dress all the time to avoid scandalous looks," I said. I tasted the sauce, added some more rosemary and oregano, stirred it in, tasted again, and decided I had it right. "And, hey— that's one more reason for you to like us Slayers, Judith."

"You mean besides you saving my life and the lot of you taking me in so easily, and working so hard at making me feel at home?" Judith said, her voice amused. "Really, I don't need any more reasons to like you Slayers and your support personnel, but do explain, please."

"Pretty simple, really," I said, sitting down next to her and keeping one eye on the stove where the ground beef was still browning. Ripley hopped off of my shoulder, flapped to sit on Judith's on the side away from where she had her hair pulled over her shoulder to braid it. "Since the Battle of Bloomington and the Slayers coming into the public eye, feminism has made some more progress. After all, when _only girls and women_ can have the power that we have, it sort of gives the women of the world a mental and emotional boost. Some of the remaining restrictions are being removed, although not all— but it really seems like we've helped. Women are allowed to be combat soldiers and pilots in the American military now, and while there's still some difference in the salary of a man and a woman in some jobs— executive jobs, mostly, I mean— it's diminishing. Things are getting better, and a lot of feminists are crediting us, at least in part."

"You're right, that is another reason for me to be fond of Slayers," Judith agreed, and squeezed my hand briefly before I got up to drain the ground beef and add it to the sauce.

I stirred the browned hamburger in, stuck the pot in the fridge, and stretched. "I have to be up for school in the morning, so I should head for bed. But before I go… Judith, I know you're tough. You aren't a weeping ball of useless right now, and after all that's happened today, that tells me you're very tough. But if you want a friend, if you need company tonight— just to keep the nightmares off, I'm not making a pass at— I'm not suggesting anything romantic, sorry.

"If you want company tonight, that's fine. I understand, just like I'll understand if you don't. If you decide no now and change your mind later, my room's on the third floor, first on the left."

"I… thank you," Judith said, her voice a little unsteady. "Quite frankly, I'm glad you asked… because I don't think I could have brought it up.

"I would like it if you could stay with me tonight, please."

"Your room or mine?" I asked.

"I've seen mine," Judith said. "No windows, so I'll sleep much better, and there is an alarm clock, which I'll set for whenever you like."

So we went to her room in the basement, climbed into the queen-sized bed, her in sweatpants and a T-shirt, me in shorts and a T, and lay facing each other, but touching only by holding hands. Ripley curled up on the headboard above us, still small enough to do that, and Judith smiled at the sight.

"Good night, Jocelyn," Judith said. She squeezed my hand and added, "Thank you for everything."

"You're very welcome," I said. "Good night."

She woke twice from nightmares that night. The first time, she excused herself, went to the bathroom one door down the hall, came back, took my hand again, and fell asleep almost instantly. The second one must have been very bad— she screamed herself awake, and this cool, calm, self-sufficient girl came sobbing into my arms to be held until she slept with an ease that I would never have expected.

After that, she slept easily until the alarm went off in the morning, and she didn't seem embarrassed by waking up still snuggled up to me. We went up for breakfast, and I started the spaghetti sauce (Kelly had brought over the meatballs sometime after I'd gone to bed). Judith ate well enough at breakfast, then surprised me when I left for school by giving me a brief (but warm) hug.

At school, Belinda walked into the building with me, chatting lightly, and stopped me with a hand on my arm when we came to the hall junction where she went one way to her locker and I another to mine. She looked up at me and said, "I really like Judith, Jocelyn. I guess that's a good thing, too."

"Huh?" I said. "Why is that a good thing? Besides that she's gonna be living with us, I mean."

"Oh, man," Belle said, giggling a little. "You really _did_ miss it!"

"Miss what?" I asked, honestly puzzled.

Belle gave me a big, cheeky grin, took a couple of steps down the hall towards her locker, then looked over her shoulder and said, "And then there were four…."

I stared after her, stunned silly by the remembrance of the conversation we'd shared just… wow, just a couple weeks ago, not long after we met and "adopted" Ian Matthias.

_I keep seeing you three together and looking for the fourth one, like some part of me knows there ought to be four of you,_ Belinda had said to me the night after Piper had first come to breakfast holding hands with both Colin and I.

" 'And then there were four….' " I quoted what she'd said just a moment before, this time understanding it. "Oh. Cool!"

I went to class with a grin on my face.


	36. Lancing the Wound

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 36: Lancing the Wound

I kind of floated through that day at school, wondering if Belle was right and Judith was going to be a fourth for Colin, Piper and I. I didn't know her well enough to love her, not yet, but she was pretty, if in an unusual way, and I liked her. I figured that if Belle was right— and I couldn't know that, not for sure— it would take a while for someone who'd just come from the early forties to adapt to the idea, and tried to let it go. I'm a horny little sex-monkey, though, so that didn't entirely work.

School passed quickly, if we don't count world history anyway, and when I got home I found Judith sitting in the living room with a stack of books on the coffee table in front of her, a mug of tea in one hand, Ripley on her shoulder and a book open on her lap. As I came in, Ripley flew over to land on my shoulder, and Judith turned a page. By the time I'd gotten through cuddling with my friend and we'd exchanged "I missed yous," Judith was turning a page again. When I walked over to where she sat, I saw that this was a big hardback with no pictures and dense print— yet she read both pages in under a minute. She read for another thirty seconds, finished the chapter she was on, then put the book aside and looked up at me.

"You know, even accounting for the bias of historians and the bad things that happened, I find myself rather annoyed at having missed the nineteen sixties," Judith said. She stood and moved to hug me, if briefly, then said, "However, I think that missing the nineteen eighties balances things out."

"Could be, I said, laughing. "I have to change for advanced martial arts, then I have a session with Diane. Want to watch the class?"

"Yes, I think I'd enjoy that," Judith said. She stretched, emphasizing her height and thinness, then added, "Perhaps I could join, if there's a not-so-advanced class. I did have instruction in unarmed combat, first from Mother, then from a professional jujitsu instructor. I'd like to learn more fighting, that I may help when Team Slayer has something to deal with."

"We can always use more hands," I said as I turned and headed for the stairs. "And if you don't decide to be a professional musician, I think you'd make an incredible Watcher."

"Is there some reason I couldn't do both?" Judith called after me, her eyebrow raised, and a sardonic tone in her voice that made me think of her father.

I laughed my way upstairs and changed clothes, came back down and led Judith outside to watch the advanced combat classes. She seemed a mixture of impressed, amused and stunned. The stunned came from Daddy setting me and Berachah to sparring at full speed. The level of competition inspired us both to default to our favorite, best and best-loved styles, so she watched as we went after each other with Capoeira and Mossad unarmed combat, her eyes wide and amazed at the mixture of insanely acrobatic moves and incredibly direct and potentially devastating moves.

After we'd stopped (I got the best of the match thanks to the Slayer power letting me do things no ordinary Capoerista could do, the kind of thing you might see on a movie screen) and hugged briefly, Judith said, "I'm sorry to interrupt, Whitey, but what in the devil is that art Jocelyn was using?"

"It's called Capoeira," Dad said, grinning at Judith. "It's a martial art based in dance and acrobatics, originated in Brazil. If you're interested, Ballard teaches it, could probably work you into a beginner's class. But you should be aware— a lot of what Jocelyn does can't be done by a non-Slayer. Without the Slayer power, human muscles can't provide the impetus necessary for, as example, that gigantic cartwheel kick where she went, what, seven feet in the air?"

"I can certainly see that," Judith said, "but I still think I want to learn it. I'll definitely speak to Ballard, thank you— and I'm sorry I interrupted."

"No interruption, we're done for the day," Dad said. He looked at the rest of us, said, "Tomorrow, ladies. Go do what comes next."

The newbies went off to weapons training, I went off to see Diane, and Judith went to find Ballard.

I think I made more progress talking to Diane that day, but it's hard to tell. She seemed satisfied, though.

Supper went really well. Judith was visibly (and audibly— she complimented us both several times) pleased with the meal Kelly and I had collaborated on. She ate two and a half plates of the tortellini with meat sauce and meatballs, about a half a loaf of garlic bread, and a salad besides, then sat and looked at her plate in amazement.

"Good lord, I may never move again," she said, sounding kind of happy about that. "Oh, thank you, both of you. That puts the restaurant where I first had the dish to shame."

"You're very welcome," Kelly said, and I echoed her.

"However, I do hope you can move," Giles said, giving her a smile. "Ballard mentioned that you asked for Capoeira lessons, and if you can't move by tomorrow afternoon, that may get a bit awkward…."

"Yes, well I hope to be able to move by then," she said. "My god, I haven't eaten like that since… I think since sometime last summer. So… seventy-eight years, if you look at it that way."

She wanted to help clean up, but the adults put their feet down, and she simply sat and talked with Dad, Giles and Kelly about the history she'd read that day while Linnea and Uncle Ballard did the cleaning. After that had been done, Giles stood and offered his hand to Judith. She took it, looking a little puzzled, and he gave her a smile that those of us who knew him well read as his "I have a surprise for you" smile.

"If you would all accompany us to the guest house," Giles said, bowing Judith towards the back door, "I have something to show Judith that I do hope may benefit us all."

We all looked at each other, most of us puzzled, though I saw Xander hiding a grin and Daddy looking sort of smug. We followed them to the guest house that Giles had had built behind Scooby Mansion in the summer of 2003, and Giles led us to a big room on the first floor that had once been meant to be a library, but had never been used that way. Instead it had become a sort of recreation room, with a ping-pong table, a giant screen TV (that was now out in the living room of the guest house) and a couple of big tables for games or talking or whatever.

Now the ping-pong table had been relegated to the basement, the big tables were gone (to the library in Scooby Mansion, I found out later), and more couches, loveseats and chairs had been added around the periphery of the room, leaving room for the gifts at the center of the room.

Judith stopped and stared at the things in the middle of the room for a moment, then looked at Giles and said, "Sir, you really shouldn't have spent—"

"Hush," Giles said quietly— and she did, because he used a mild version of his implacable 'do as I say' voice. "Judith, you are a part of our family, now. A part of our lives. We take care of our family, and this… well, it may well enable you to adapt to your new home faster, in addition to giving us all some pleasure. I spoke with Diane, and she agreed that it was a wonderful idea, as creative people— such as musicians— can often express their feelings and excise their hurt best by exercising their creativity.

"That being said… would you mind playing something for us?"

Judith turned and looked at the five instruments in the room, her eyes lighting up as they moved from the flute on a small table to the acoustic guitar on a stand, the violin on a second table, the cello propped against a chair… and finally to the centerpiece, a Steinway _concert grand piano_.

"I think you will find everything in tune," Giles said. "I had professionals take care of that."

Judith turned and hugged Giles very hard, and said softly, "Thank you, Giles.

"Now… sit down, all of you, please. I think I will start with the flute…."

She played a couple of tunes on the flute, first Greensleeves, then a sprightly little thing that sounded like an Irish jig tune. She moved to the piano, played a couple of pieces, something I didn't know followed by Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, then a couple of classical guitar pieces on the guitar, a couple more classical pieces on the violin… and then she went to the cello. I could see— we all could— her love of that instrument as she settled behind it, caressed the surface of the instrument and picked up the bow.

Then she started playing, and I think a tone deaf _donkey_ would have understood her love of the cello. She played a couple of pieces that I almost recognized but didn't know the names of, then she settled down… and just _played_. What came out was all her hurt, and loss, and fear at being torn from her home, but after a while, the tune shifted, became intrigue at her surroundings, delight in the existence of pseudo dragons, relief at finding a home, friends, perhaps even family— and we all simply sat and listened as she played those things.

Judith played the cello for most of an hour, and no one left. When she finally set aside the instrument (reluctantly), she had tears drying on her face, and I didn't think, I just got up and went to hug her. She clung to me tightly, shivering a little, for a long time— and when she let go, we were alone in the room, except for Ripley, who had moved from my shoulder to Judith's.

"Thank you," she said in a slightly watery voice. "I'm very glad you're here."

"Me, too," I said, and hugged her again.

When we parted, she said, "I need to find Giles and thank him again. Bloody wonderful."

"Yes, he does that a lot," I agreed, leading her out of the guest house and towards Scooby Mansion. "It's really kind of amusing, because he pretends to be all stuffy and proper, but he's really a big old sentimental softie underneath. And I will deny having said that."

We found Giles, Judith thanked him effusively, then she came with me while I took Richter for a walk on the leash, which he still didn't much like. I found myself grateful for Slayer strength, what with the way he strained at the leash.

Judith and I talked about the world, and she was soon talking about the differences she saw in my here-now and her own original here-now, speaking of both the good and the bad with a scholarly air that could, I think, only have come from someone who'd experienced both times and places and jumped suddenly from one to the other, especially with the differences in society that had nothing to do with the supernatural.

Finally, she wound down, and I smiled at her. "I could learn a lot from just listening to you, I think," I said. "As much as or more than I get from school, I'm pretty sure. Neat."

"I'm glad you think so," Judith said. "I had few friends at home, simply because I had picked up Father's habit of long, rambling lectures on whatever subject was on my mind, and most couldn't take it."

"Well, I like it," I said, and took her hand. "I like learning things, and while things related to the Slayers and the job we do are my first love, they aren't my only love when it comes to learning. I like most subjects, though I think I may never be a great mathematician. And it helps to have a good teacher, my world history class stinks because the teacher's getting old and near retirement, and he's forgotten how to be interesting— or maybe quit caring."

"I could tell you like learning from the moment I saw your room when your mother was showing me around, Jocelyn," Judith said, giving me that slantwise smile that I was learning to really love seeing. "Anyone with that many books is fond of learning— it's a simple fact of life."

"Yeah, I am a bookaholic," I said with a grin. "And I'm not even _considering_ seeking treatment, thanks!"

Judith chuckled and said, "A girl after my own heart.

"Jocelyn, may I ask a personal question? You needn't answer, of course, but… there is something I am curious about."

"You can ask," I said. "I can't think of anything I wouldn't be willing to tell you."

"When you came home this afternoon, you said you had a martial arts class and then a 'session' with Diane," Judith said. "Is that because of the work you do? The Slayer work?"

"Only… only peripherally," I said, thinking about how to answer. "It's not the way you mean, I don't think. I'm not having difficulty with the danger or the violence, the killing of demons, none of that. I know these things are necessary, know it in my bones, and I have the power and the skill to face the demons. It's just… I'm not really sure that I'm _supposed_ to have the power, not anymore."

"Why in the world would you doubt that?" Judith asked, looking at me sideways. "I've seen you fight, and you bloody well saved my life. How can you doubt that you are supposed to have the power? You were Chosen, weren't you?"

"Not really," I said with a sigh. We'd reached my house again, and I led her to the back porch and the glider swing there, unclipped the leash from Richter and sat. Judith sat next to me, still holding my hand, and Richter jumped up and got his front third or so in my lap. "Giles left a little bit out of the explanation of the initial activation of all the potential Slayers, Judith. Not to conceal anything from you, I'm sure, but to spare my feelings, to keep me from dwelling on it."

"If you don't want to talk about it—"

"No, I don't mind," I said. I squeezed her hand and said, "I like you a lot, Judith Holmes, and I don't keep things from my friends."

"You know," she said softly, "if you continue saying things like that, I'll be forced to think that you're trying to turn me into another Giles— a 'big sentimental softie' is the term, I believe. Well, it may just work."

"I hope so," I said. I sighed, leaned back and explained about my doubts. "In the short term, what Giles left out was that there were four potentials who became Slayers on the first Activation Day… who were pregnant. Each of them had a daughter, and each of those girls was born with the Slayer power, has had it from infancy. Those four girls… everyone thinks they're something special, something wonderful, that they're meant to do big things, special things. Their names are Natalie Moore, Jenny Carlotti, Mira Rodriguez… and Jocelyn Penobscot."

"That," Judith said with a slow nod— almost a little bow of the head, "makes sense. At least in your case."

"I don't know about that," I said, squeezing her hand in thanks. "See I find myself wondering… was it Mom that it wanted, and I'm just a side effect of that? Did it want Mom so badly that it took a chance on me? Am I just… icing on the cake?"

"That is absurd," Judith said. She gave me a stern look and went on, "I know only a very little bit about what you and yours do, Jocelyn Penobscot, but I know enough to know that the others look on you with… expectation. Pride. The expression on your father's face while you sparred today, that was a thing to remember, Jocelyn, because it was the expression of a man who sees something wonderful, something that he helped _be_ wonderful, yes, but wonderful none the less. The others look at you the same way— 'look at the girl we helped become who she is, look at what a wonderful person she is.' I know that expression, egotistical though it may be to say it, because my parents both wore it on occasion— when they looked at me."

"I… thank you," I said. I wanted very badly to kiss her for that, but knew better. "Thank you, Judith.

"But still… I can't _know_. I can't be sure— because I'll never be Chosen. I'll always have to wonder if it wanted Mom so badly that it accepted me."

"Mmm." Judith looked thoughtful for a moment— then smiled slowly. "It occurs to me that there may be a way to… not dispel this idea, no, but at least put a hole in it that may let in some rationality. Or at least let some of the silliness out, that might be enough.

"Do you think that the elders of the house would be upset if I asked to speak to all of them? Immediately, I mean?"

"I… don't think so," I said, unsure of what she might want to say. "We can ask Dad."

"Let's do, then," Judith said. She stood, looked at Richter and said, "Down, Richter." He got off my lap and the glider swing, and Judith pulled me to my feet and inside.

We found Dad in the living room, sitting on one side of Gwen with Mom on her other side, all three looking very relaxed, and Judith hesitated for a moment, then went to stand before them.

"Whitey, Chantelle, Gwendolyn, I do hate to interrupt, but Jocelyn and I have been talking, and I believe…." Judith hesitated, then said, "Jocelyn told me why she is seeing Diane in the lady's professional capacity, and I think I may have something to say that could very well help Jocelyn get past her difficulties faster. Would it be possible for me to speak to all of the adults and all of the Slayers who are a part of your extended family? Now, if it can be done?"

Dad looked at Gwen, looked at Mom— and grinned. "Judith, if you think you can help, you can wake us in the middle of the night and we'll make it happen. Let me make a couple of calls."

Five minutes later, we all walked into the library at Scooby Mansion to find Giles, Kelly, Uncle Ballard and his various wives, Autumn Innes, the youngest Slayer around right now, Diane Hodges, Willow and Lydia, Vincent and Vi, Xander, Buffy and Joyce (with Ian sitting by Joyce and holding her hand). With Mom, Dad, Gwen, Colin, Mi Kyong, Piper and I, as well as a whole bunch of pseudo dragons, we made quite the crowd— but Judith showed no sign of nerves at all.

Judith moved to stand where everyone could see her, turned and looked at me for permission to go on, and after I nodded, spoke to us all.

"I hope that I haven't interrupted anything important," Judith said, looking around at all the curious faces. "However, I felt _this_ important.

"A little while ago, Jocelyn told me of her doubts about her right to be a Slayer, and her uncertainty became obvious to me very quickly. After listening to her, a thought occurred to me that, if I am correct, may well help her get past those doubts at least a little faster. If I can help even by a small percentage, I will be very glad, for she has become dear to me. But I must ask a question, one that… well, I don't truly know much about how you operate, so I may be asking a delicate question, or one that is none of my business. Should this be the case, I ask your forgiveness in advance— I can honestly say I don't know if the question is one you will feel comfortable answering."

"I can't think of anything that could even possibly help that I would feel at all uncomfortable telling you," Giles said. "We respect the privacy of our Watchers and Slayers when we can, but I can't imagine answering a question about something that might aid Jocelyn in recovering her confidence violating someone's privacy. Ask, Judith, please."

"Jocelyn tells me that she is one of four girls born with the Slayer power," Judith said slowly, "girls born to four Slayers who were pregnant on the original Activation Day. So my first question is simple; how many girls were pregnant that day— and carrying boys?"

"Why, none," Giles said, looking surprised that he'd never thought of that. "Though we had some older girls— nine, in fact— activated the next year, girls who had been pregnant at the initial time of activation."

Judith nodded, then asked, "Giles… _did any of those girls give birth to female children?"_

Giles nodded and said, "Three of them, in fact, yes, Judith."

Judith turned and grinned at me triumphantly— but I didn't get it, and I could tell that none of the others did, either.

"I don't understand," I said. "That doesn't really prove anything, Judith."

"Yes, it does, especially given the added fact of three girls who were carrying _girls_ on that day being Chosen _late,_" Judith said. "Giles, how many girls were activated that day?"

"To the best of our knowledge, around two thousand," Giles said, looking puzzled. "Like Jocelyn, I fail to see the significance."

"It's quite simple," Judith said. "Giles, the power that animates the Scythe, that activates the new Slayers, it is sentient, yes?"

"Yes, it certainly is," Giles said. "All of us here have heard the Scythe speak, or nearly all of us."

"All right," Judith said. "One; the Scythe is sentient. Two; four girls who were pregnant with girls were given the power, and their daughters as well. Three; no girls who were pregnant with male children, children who would have been unaffected by the power, were Chosen that day— yet six were Chosen the next year— as were three young women who'd been pregnant with _daughters_ at the time of the original Activation.

"The only logical solution to the puzzle that all of this presents is that the Scythe wanted both the pregnant girls that it activated _and their daughters_— else it would have skipped those four girls as well, activated them the next year!"

For a long, long moment, no one spoke. Finally, Xander stood, walked to Judith, stopped in front of her, dropped to his knees— and salaamed rapidly, chanting "We're not worthy! We're not worthy! We're not worthy!"

"Take that, you damned silly inferiority complex!" Diane Hodges said, smacking her forehead, then pointing her right index finger at me like a gun.

"Judith Holmes, you are _brilliant!"_ Daddy said, standing and hugging me hard while I stood there with my mouth open and my head spinning. "Young lady, none of us saw that, and we—"

"Please don't berate yourselves," Judith said, waving at Xander to get up (and trying to smother a laugh at his antics while she spoke). "Mother often told me that a person who is inside a problem often cannot see the solution because they _are_ on the inside— hence my father being the one who saw the truth of her family's deaths, a truth that, in retrospect, she saw quite easily. It is simply a part of being human."

"Hush, now," Mom said. She'd been hugging me around Daddy, and now she let go and went to hug Judith. "You done went an' saw a way to help my little girl, an' it did help— I can see that from her 'aw, holy _shit'_ expression— so you ain't gonna be all modest about it. Thank you, Judith!"

"Way to go, Judith," Buffy said, giving her a grin and a thumbs-up. "Thanks. Thanks a _lot_."

I finally got my mental feet under me, and walked a little unsteadily— my eyes were a little clouded with tears of relief, though not total relief, that would probably take some time yet— to stand before Judith and look up into those bright blue eyes of hers.

"Thank you," I said, my voice ragged and weepy.

Judith didn't answer with words, just pulled me into a long, tight hug, and Ripley, showing her approval in the way of her people, wrapped her wings as far around our heads as they'd go while we hugged.

I got hugged by everybody in the room, and Judith got hugged by (I found this out later) those whose pseudo dragons told them that she would welcome a hug from them. That list included Daddy, Giles, Kelly, Aunt Dawn, Aunt Sh'rin, Colin, Piper and Joyce. The rest all shook her hand or squeezed her shoulder in thanks— and people started drifting off to their homes to go to bed.

I walked back to our house holding hands with Judith and Mom, Ripley on my shoulder and Richter bounding around the four of us like a happy tornado. In the house, I dropped into a chair at the kitchen table… and started giggling. In couple of minutes, that turned to full-bore laughter, and to allay the fears of those around me who were looking at me like I might have lost my mind, I stammered, "All this stupid beating myself up, just because I never thought to ask the right damned question— and along comes a girl from an Earth where we Slayers don't even _exist,_ and she solves it on her second day here!

"I'm sorry, that's just hysterically funny!"

Daddy dropped into the chair next to me and hugged me, then pointed sternly at Judith, then at the chair on my other side until she sat and took my hand in hers and grinned at me.

"I'm glad I could do for you some of what you've done for me," Judith said— and chuckled. "I'm also glad you can laugh about it— that means you aren't kicking yourself over the situation."

"No, no kicking," I said, gasping for breath and trying to stop my laughter. "Done enough of that, thanks— but come on, it's funny! It's like something out of a Bugs Bunny cartoon, or something."

We all sat around and chortled for a bit, then I got up and said, "Okay— emotional relief can wear a girl out. I'm going to grab a shower, then hit the hay."

"Would you mind…?" Judith said, looking a little uncomfortable at the idea of saying the rest in front of the whole family.

"After what you just did for me," I said slowly and in unbelieving tones, "you actually have to _ask_ that? Of course I don't mind!"

I showered hastily, came downstairs to find Judith in deep conversation with Mi Kyong, went to kiss Colin and Piper while they finished their talk, then went to hug the rest of my family since those two were still talking. Even Stephen, not so demonstrative since the onset of puberty, hugged me good night, and Dad, Mom and Gwendolyn all gave me extra-long-extra-tight hugs before Mi Kyong, her conversation with Judith apparently finished, came over and hugged me breathless. After that, Judith took me by the hand, and she, Ripley, Richter and I went downstairs to her bedroom.

"You know," I said as Judith gathered her sleeping clothes before going to the bathroom to change, "I kind of owe you big time after the way you just took a major chunk out of my mental and emotional mess. Now, you don't seem too tense tonight, but if you want a back rub anyway, I've been assured that I'm very good at it— and if you don't want one tonight but do later? All you have to do— ever!— is ask."

"I think I may just take you up on that," Judith said with a little smile. "Tonight, I mean. Let me change, I'll be back directly."

She came back a couple of minutes later in a T-shirt and sweatpants, and she pulled me to my feet and hugged me long and hard before she got into bed, lying on her stomach. (I tried not to make anything out of the fact that her nipples were as hard as diamonds when she hugged me, but horndog me, I couldn't help but wonder….)

Once she'd lain down, Judith worked her T-shirt up over her back and shoulders, exposing that long, toned expanse of back to me. I sat on the edge of the bed, ran my hands from her shoulders to the waistband of her sweats, delighting in the smoothness of her skin, and trying not to delight _too_ much.

I rubbed her back, she made appreciative sounds, and after a while, she said, "I think you'd better stop before I fall asleep— with my shirt like this, I'd probably be hopelessly tangled up in the morning."

I chuckled, stood and moved slowly to the other side of the bed to give her plenty of time to get decent again. When I got in bed, she came straight across the bed and let me pull her close, sighed softly against my neck, and laughed as Richter jumped up on the bed and flopped down beside me.

"It's all right, he's welcome," she said before I could offer to chase him down. "I realize that I may regret that when he outweighs me, but he's welcome."

"Okay," I said, and stroked her arm slowly. "Judith… thank you. What you did tonight… well, that tipped the scales. I went from 'like you' to 'love you.' I know we haven't known each other long, but… I love you."

"Duration has little to do with emotion," she said in a low voice— and I was reminded of my dream-encounter with Royal and his telling me not to argue 'that silly human obsession with time and duration,' and I knew he'd love her, right then and there. I was grinning hugely as she went on. "In fact, it has _nothing_ to do with it, Jocelyn— and I love you, as well."

"Thank you, Judith," I said, and squeezed her once. "Good night."

"Good night, Jocelyn."

We were both asleep ten minutes later. Judith woke only once that night, and while she did jerk awake, she didn't cry out— and she let me pull her close and soothe her back to sleep, which didn't take very long.

In the morning, she woke with the alarm when I did, and we went to breakfast together. No one thought anything of it, I could tell, or of the fact that she hugged me and kissed my cheek before I went to school.

School… man, that was a great day! In my two Slayer-oriented classes— Supernatural Beings and the combat class I had for PE— I found myself so much more comfortable that the relief almost left me gasping. I answered questions in Supernatural Beings easily and without second-guessing myself, and in combat class, I found myself being more aggressive in sparring— but without getting stupid or reckless. I had back most of my confidence, and it really showed. Buffy gave me a big grin and a thumbs up after I put the best-trained senior girl in my class out, three points to two, when I hadn't been able to beat a girl only half as good as her the week before.

Oh, I wasn't "miraculously freed" of my doubts, or anything like that. That sort of thing, it doesn't leave you just like that, not without something huge, huge and powerful, even _magical,_ happening first. Judith's logic, no matter how startling, couldn't do _that_— but it did free me of enough of the worry and hurt to bounce most of the way back. I couldn't have led a team, not then, and I wasn't sure if I could go out solo or not— but I knew that I could work as part of a team and have no doubts about pulling my weight, not be afraid to offer suggestions to the boss, which, the day before, I wouldn't have been able to do.

So… improvement of the big variety. I felt good, really good, for the first time in weeks.

In class after school, Daddy worked me hard, and then— oh, man, then it got better. After the advance martial arts class, he took me aside and we did tactical simulations in the shade of a big old maple behind Scooby Mansion, sitting at a picnic table and going through scenarios from the Watcher's Journals as always.

I had eight clean wins out of ten, and one of my two 'losses' was a mutual destruction scenario— I 'died,' but so did the monster— so Daddy said, "Eight and a half-wins, honey-girl. Good job."

"Thanks, Dad," I said, and went around to hug him. I snuggled for a minute, then said, "Uh, Daddy? Honesty time for a minute?"

"It's always a good time for honesty time, Jocelyn," Daddy said. "What's on your mind?"

"I don't want to lie to you about anything, so I thought I should tell you," I said, looking up and meeting his gaze, "that while I don't think she feels that strongly about me, I'm… kind of falling in love with Judith. I won't stay with her on a weeknight past when she needs me, I don't want you to have a reason to not trust me, but… right now, she still needs me, I think. And like I said, it's not a two-way street, so nothing's likely to happen. Still… I wanted you to know."

"All right, Jocelyn," Daddy said, and kissed my forehead. "Thanks for telling me— and I do trust you, so relax.

"But I can't say I'm surprised at your feelings. She's very pretty, you love the books you've read about her parents, and she helped you over a big emotional hump. Strong feelings? Practically inevitable. Considering that you are your mother's daughter, strong desire accompanying those strong feelings? Yeah. As surprising as… oh, pseudo dragon babies being cute."

"You, honored father," I said in a serious voice, "are a total smartass."

"Yes, I am," Daddy said, and tickled my ribs. "Aren't you glad? After all, that means _you_ can use heredity as an excuse."

I shrieked and wiggled away, and Dad laughed, told me to go do my homework before supper, and went off to tell the other Watchers and instructors about how well I'd done.

I went home, did homework, had supper, then let Colin and Piper drag me off to bed for a couple of hours— where Things Happened.

Piper made love with us. Both of us. She seemed… relieved, honestly, when we'd all finished and were just cuddling. She'd never hesitated more than an instant while we were doing things, and then only twice— once before oral sex on Colin, once before oral sex on me. Both times, though, she'd not hesitated at all once she'd started— and had very, _very_ plainly enjoyed herself. When it came time to actually make love to Colin, she didn't hesitate at all— she admitted afterwards that by that time, the big hurdles had been passed.

"Well," she said when I asked what the big hurdles were, "they were, uh, oral sex on Colin— that was… I didn't think I'd actually like it, despite watching you and knowing that you do, Jocelyn.

"Then oral sex— making love to you— that one scared me because… because I wasn't sure I'd be any good at it. I was worried about making love with Colin, too— when we started, I mean— but by the time we got there? No worries, I was too freaking horny!"

"You shouldn't have worried about anything," I said to her. "We love you, Piper— if anything had been less than wonderful, we'd have forgiven you. Not like we had to!"

"You got that right," Colin said, and kissed Piper very emphatically. "You're an amazing lover, Piper. No complaints, just compliments."

We three snuggled, then showered, then went downstairs.

At bedtime, I went with Judith to her room without any discussion, and again, she woke up only once in the night, and I was able to hold her and soothe her into sleep very shortly.

The next afternoon after school, me and the other fully-trained girls got excused from the advanced classes— because we needed to be briefed on the patrol schedule for that night.

Nine people had turned up dead that morning, all of vampire attacks, seven more were missing — and Team Slayer was back on active duty.


	37. Opening Gambit

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 37: Opening Gambit

We ate an early supper, Diane assured me that it was okay to skip a therapy session in light of the situation, and Willow, bless her magical heart, was able to make sure that those fully-trained Slayers who'd graduated from school already and who would have the late-night patrols would be well rested come their turn to patrol by sending them into magical sleep. The early evening patrols would run from six in the evening to midnight, then the late-nighters would be out from midnight to six in the morning. We early-night-patrol people ate early, then broke up into teams and were driven to our patrol areas. We were fairly small teams, but pretty well balanced. I was on a five-person team, me, two other Slayers, Aunt Dawn for magical oomph, and Dad for Watcher knowledge. Xander observed from a Team Slayer mission control van. He had Ian Matthias and Judith with him, as both were very interested in what we were doing.

Also with the field team I was on were the pseudo dragons of those who had fully grown companions, which, okay, meant everyone but me. Ripley wasn't far off, though— she was with Judith in the control van.

My team was being run by Alina Sidorova, a native of Russia, and our third Slayer was Aamira Nazari. Alina and Aamira took point, and I got assigned to rear guard with Dad, behind Aunt Dawn, to make sure that nothing attacked her if she needed to cast a spell. We five started out near Miller Park, at Park Hill Cemetery, where Aunt Rose's father and sister had been buried. For the first two hours, nothing— then we walked into a group of five vampires in an abandoned, trashed out house a couple blocks west of Park Hill. They had been menacing a pair of kids my age, a boy and a girl, who seemed to have gone there to make out, judging by the lipstick smears around both their mouths.

We made short work of the five, Aunt Dawn treated the cut on the boy's arm (he'd taken a clawing from a vampire for refusing to move aside and let the vamp at the girl— there is hope for my generation!), and called it in to Xander in the control van.

Five minutes later, he called back and told us where to find the nest of vampires that pretty much had to be working this area, though we had no real idea of how he'd figured it out.

I had my suspicions about how he'd done it, though— and it turned out I was right.

_Interlude: Team Slayer Control Van_

"All right, Dawn, thanks," Xander said into the radio. "Good job, ladies and gentleman— not like that's a surprise, but it rates saying."

He entered the address of the attack into the computer, and it popped up on the screen, a red dot in a mess of other red dots. He looked for a moment, then sighed, sat back and said, "Still no pattern to the attacks, dammit."

Xander heard a small, abortive sound behind him, glanced back and saw Judith Holmes deliberately closing her mouth.

"Have you got something, Judith?" Xander asked.

"I— well, this is your specialty, Xander, so I'm very probably mistaken," Judith said.

"Judith, if you have an idea, spill it— I won't be mad whether you're right or wrong, my ego can more than take you being right, and my love of teaching will make me happy with explaining why if you're wrong," Xander said patiently. He grinned a little and added, "Trust me, after years of being surrounded by women who could kick my ass with barely an effort (including my wife, and now my thirteen year-old daughter), I'm not worried about finding out a woman is better at something than I am."

"Well, if I'm wrong, do explain, then," Judith said, moving closer on Xander's right, even as Ian moved up so he could see better on Xander's other side. She indicated the screen and said, "Those red dots are the sites of vampire attacks, or where people disappeared and left behind indications of violence, correct?"

"You got it," Xander said. "If there's a pattern there, I can't see it, and neither could anyone else."

"That's because there isn't _a_ pattern," Judith said. "There are _three_ patterns, Xander."

Xander blinked, looked again, and almost saw what she was talking about— but only almost. "Can you explain better?"

"I could if this were a paper map," Judith said. "I need to isolate the patterns to show you best, but I can't fold the irrelevant sections under."

"That's what zoom is for," Xander said. "What part do you want expanded?"

"You can do that?" Judith asked, surprised and pleased. He nodded and she said, "Then please expand the western sector, from that main road there— Market Street— up to Miller Park."

The map zoomed, and Judith muttered, "Damned useful that. All right… now look, but discount the one easternmost dot, it's the west edge of the eastern pattern. See the pattern of dots spreading south and east? I'd wager that there are only businesses, or at least mostly businesses, to the north of… Washington Street? And that looks like empty spaces to the southwest, there?"

"I see it," Xander said, looking at her and nodding in respect. "Good job. From the look of things, they're originating from somewhere in here… which means the most likely origin point is… oh, ow."

"What is it?" Ian asked, leaning over to look closer at the map. "The icon looks like a business is there, but it's awfully big."

"It's a former business," Xander said. "An old Cargill feed plant, was a Ralston-Purina feed plant before that. They made pet food, cattle feed, all that stuff. Closed down in twenty-sixteen. It's a nightmare, from a Slayer point of view. Huge buildings, lots of old machinery, big beams holding up high ceilings, interior and exterior catwalks… way too many places for a vampire to hide. This is not a job for three Slayers, a Watcher and a Guardian, even the Chief Guardian. I think I need to call for backup.

"Judith… good job. I'm going to pass on the sector-patterns thing to the other teams' Watchers before I holler for help."

"If you need me to look at them, I will," Judith said, smiling a little, glad to have been able to help.

"We may," Xander said. Then he spoke to his radio microphone. "Slayer HQ, this is van two, Giles, you there?"

Judith sat back and watched and learned while she basked in the waves of warmth and gratitude coming from Ripley, who sat on her crossed arms.

_Jocelyn:_

We were moving in a standard five-person pattern, two in front, witch in the middle, two behind, when Alina raised her hand for us to stop, and put her hand to her headset radio as Xander called her on the leader channel. After a moment, she switched to the team channel and said, "All right, people, we have a new objective. It seems that there is a pattern to the killings when you break it down to three sectors, and the origin point for our sector… I will not lie, it is bad, but we are meeting backup on site. We must go to the old Cargill feed plant near Euclid Avenue and Washington Street.

"The plan currently is for all active teams to meet there and clean out that spot, then move to the second and third origin points as a unit before splitting again and returning to patrol. So… let us walk quickly."

So we did walk quickly, and we met the others at the corner of Olive and Euclid. The we went in. Nine Slayers, three Guardians for magical oomph— Kimber Duncan, Aunt Elaine's old friend, now back in the area for a while, came along with Aunt Dawn and Aunt Sh'rin— and three Watchers, Daddy, Lydia and Vincent. Xander, Kelly and Brian Keller stayed outside in their vans, spaced around the place as best the roads would allow, monitored us and stayed ready to yell for backup. Six pseudo dragons went along, ready and willing to play scout and backup.

We went in, and we got pounded— because we never thought it through, never saw the trap before it sprang.

It started out fairly simple— we went in through the main entrance to the shipping area, where semi trailers had been loaded with pet food to ship around the country. The loading area, huge and dusty, had no vampires in it, big surprise. They'd all be out eating— except whatever was in charge, that we figured would be here still. Vampires didn't work the way these were working without being told to, so… something had to be in charge.

We cleared the loading bays, made sure they had nothing in them— and went into the manufacturing part of the plant. It was freaking huge, half the size of a football field, a little bigger. Sixty yards wide and seventy long, it had a big, cracked and greasy concrete floor with silent, dead machines and empty bins and vats all over the place, with conveyor belts, silent and rusty, running back and forth all over the place. About twenty feet up there hung a network of old, rickety, rusty catwalks.

"This," Kimber said softly, "is not going to be any fun, is it?"

"I doubt it," Alina Sidorova agreed. "In truth, it could be very bad. In fact… Rhonda, if I fall, you lead. After that, it defaults to Nadia. Nadia, if it gets to Rhonda, decide on your succession then— don't wait."

Nadia Szgany, a Hungarian Slayer with big, dark eyes and a very serious demeanor, said, "I understand— but do not make it necessary, Alina."

"I'll second that," said Rhonda McIntosh, a native of Glasgow. "I've nae love of bein' the leader, d'ye ken it? Stay breathin', girl."

"That is my intention— but it is best to be prepared." Alina hefted her sword and looked around. "My team works left from here, three and two, Whitey with Jocelyn and I, Dawn with Aamira. Nadia, send your team right, decide your disposition yourself. Rhonda, spread your team out here in the center to watch in all directions. We clear this room— and I mean _clear it_— before we go on. This place is too cluttered to take chances.

"Let's get it done."

We moved out, me staying fifteen feet to Alina's right when the floor-clutter permitted, since she was left handed, and Dad moving along about halfway between us and five feet back, his favorite longsword in one hand, a stake in the other. Alina had a pair of eighteen inch long stakes, longer than usual and heavy like nightsticks, and I had my trusty longsword in hand, a bandolier of crazy-discs (two explosive, the rest "normal"), a bandolier of throwing knives (half wooden, half metal), four of Dad's vamp-killing darts hanging from various points of my belt, and each of us had between four and ten stakes in pockets and secreted about our persons to boot.

Alina's pseudo dragon pal, a rather small, shiny-red male named Mig, flew high cover for us, while Aamira's gold-colored Saif (named for an Arabian sword by that name) did the same for her and Aunt Dawn. The other pseudo dragons from our group (except Ripley, off in the van with Judith) were flying scout outside the plant.

Some vampires are stupid. I don't know if it was a newbie, or just really dumb, but as Dad passed by this big machine— for bagging dog food, I think— one jumped off of the top of it at Dad. Thing is, it hissed at him first. Hello, dumb much? Dad had plenty of time to swing his sword up and behead the thing before it hit him thanks to the hiss, and poof! Dusted.

We reached the far wall with only one more attack, and Mig warned me in plenty of time to tumble out of the way as the vampire leapt out of the shadows in the rafters. It landed catlike where I'd been, I bounced back at it in a spinning kick, knocked it to land at Alina's feet, and she dusted it with barely a look. Smooth.

We went back on a different path, got back to Rhonda's team maybe thirty seconds before Nadia's team got back— they'd had one more vampire to deal with, giving us a total of five in the main plant. Not as many as we'd expected, really, or more than expected from Dad's point of view. He'd figured they would all be out hunting.

"The offices next," Alina decided. "Another warren of places to hide, we need to clear it before checking the old grain silos."

We did the same thing as with the plant, sort of. Nadia's team went straight to the top floor to work down, Rhonda's team worked from the ground up, and we stayed on the ground floor to watch for newcomers.

Everyone seemed fairly relaxed— except me. This felt like a trap, and I couldn't shake the feeling, so I just stayed hyper-alert. Nothing happened at all, if you don't count the sounds of several fights from above us. Both teams encountered several vamps each, but none of our team members were hurt.

We went to the first of the silos that had held grain to be ground for filler and feed, and that place sent shivers up my back. Huge, fifteen stories high at least— over a hundred and fifty feet— and rectangular, unlike the round silos you saw in most places, about a hundred feet by seventy-five feet. Once we pointed flashlight beams up that way, we could see the tangle of machinery and hoses that had been used to get the grain in and keep it loosely packed so that it would flow out easily.

Then it went bad, fast.

All the doors in the place slammed shut and steel plates dropped in front of them. While we were still reacting to that, hidden panels on the walls opened up, all of them up in the shadows where we couldn't see them or the clean places from their construction.

Monsters started to rain on us as the things jumped out of their hiding places, and squeals came from all our headset radios as something jammed them.

Vampires. Werewolves. Zombies. Demons of many sizes and shapes, all in numbers that left me scared half-silly— all these things dropped from the walls and attacked us.

"Defensive circle!" Alina yelled, and we Slayers got into a circle around the not-Slayers. "Dawn, Sh'rin, Kimber— ward us as best you can! Watchers, ID creatures and shout any banes or weak spots by name of closest Slayer and short description of demon!"

I fell into the circle Alina wanted, her on one side of me, Rhonda McIntosh on the other— and I started killing things.

Vampire in front of me, so I beheaded it. A werewolf came right after, and I ran it through, grateful as hell for the layer of silver on my sword. Another vampire, another beheading. Then I had something I'd never seen before in front of me, something that looked like a rat and a squid had been crossed, then the resultant nasty thing crossed with a human. It had tentacles and fur, all black, and it stood on two legs. The four tentacles had nests of smaller tentacles on their ends, and those looked to be tipped with razor-sharp metal blades.

I went into defensive mode, my sword spinning around me like a fan on overload, and it hung back a little, not wanting to lose a tentacle. I couldn't keep up that frantic speed for long, though, so when Daddy yelled "Jocelyn! Tentacle-thing, massive arteries in the tentacles on your left, its right!" I was damned glad to hear it.

I spun with the blade, let it pull me into the ginga of Capoeira, spun into an aerial kick that the demon dodged, just as I'd wanted it to, spun two steps past it and brought my sword down on the tentacles on the thing's right side, severing both close to the body. Dark blue blood fountained out, and it sank to the ground, already dying.

I killed another vampire, threw a metal knife into the face of some hideously ugly demon that looked sort of like a slightly humanized jellyfish that was giving Rhonda a hard time, saw her behead it, heard her shout her thanks, and went after a thing that looked like someone had crossed a gorilla and a bear, given it six inch long claws, then skinned it and sent it out to kill things. Daddy shouted at me to behead it, so I did, after chopping off one arm to get the decapitating shot. Three more vampires, then Aunt Dawn shouted, "We can't ward! Something's blocking us! Spells just don't take hold!"

"Shit!" I yelled. "This is _them!_ Warren and Catherine, and maybe Dru saw how to pin us down!"

"We need an exit, NOW!" Lydia shouted. "Vincent's down, needs a healer and space to work on him!"

"Nadia's down, too!" one of her team shouted. "We need to get out of here!"

"ALINA, RHONDA!" I yelled. "Leaving the circle, take up the slack! I can maybe get us out!"

"MIG!" Alina yelled. "Call for backup, tell any dragon awake at the mansion or in the vans that we need backup NOW!"

"Dad, I'm turned around," I said, stepping back inside the circle. "Which wall is most likely to take us to a clear area, no place to ambush us from?"

"There!" Dad said, pointing behind us. "South wall— open space right outside us! What are you—?"

"Everyone, move towards the wall Alina's closest to!" I yelled. "Move, move! Half-circle perimeter, backs to the wall, watch for death-from-above attacks!"

"Jocelyn, what are you DOING!?" Alina asked.

"NO TIME!" I yelled. "TRUST ME, DAMMIT!"

She hesitated less than a second— then said, "DO IT! AS JOCELYN SAYS! BACK TO THE NORTH WALL!"

People fell back— and I went through the most hellish, horrible and frightening fifteen seconds of my life as I held my ground, fought to drive everything back enough to have the second or so I needed. If not for the Slayers and Watchers behind me risking everything for me by throwing their weapons at things as they charged me, I'd have very likely died.

As it was, I finally got in a good kick on an Urtulal demon, drove it back into the group of two vamps, some sort of ogre-looking thing and another of those gorilla-bears behind it— and there was my moment. I dropped my sword, snatched the top and bottom crazy-discs off of my bandolier, and flung them at the far wall, snapping my wrists inwards to flatten out their curving trajectory.

The two explosive crazy-discs hit just a tenth of a second or so apart, and the explosions sounded like one big one, not two. I got blown back into the arms of Rhonda McIntosh, and we went staggering backwards into Daddy and Lydia, who caught us and kept us upright.

There was a nice, big, eight-or-nine foot wide and six-foot high hole in the wall, blown out by the two explosive crazy-discs I'd brought from the dozen that Graham had gotten for me.

"GO!" Alina shouted. "RECOVER WEAPONS IF POSSIBLE, BUT DON'T GO OFF-PATH TO GET THEM!"

I pushed Daddy and Lydia ahead of me, made sure that the Slayer carrying Vincent didn't need help, got nauseous when I saw Nadia Szgany carried out past me, probably dead, scooped my sword up on the run, and charged outside, pausing only to slip an arm around Kimber Duncan and help her limp out (she had a big tear down one side just below her ribs, bloody and painful-looking).

As soon as we passed out into the welcome glare of headlights pointed right at the hole I'd made in the wall, we got grabbed and pulled aside, and I looked up into the welcome features of Aunt Elaine before she shoved us aside. I glanced around, saw her, Aunt Rose, Buffy, Mom, Vi, Piper and a couple of other Slayers I wasn't in any shape to recognize all take up positions outside the hole— and start killing everything that tried to come out after us.

"Uninjured Slayers!" Alina called. "Make a second line behind Buffy's team!"

I started that way, staggered, fell, and realized that my left leg hurt like hell. I glanced down, nearly fainted when I saw the bones below my knee and on the outside of my leg lying exposed to the air, a long strip of skin and muscle from the outside of my calf dragging in the dirt— then Daddy was beside me, yelling for a medical kit.

"Oh, shit," I said in a very small voice. "When did that happen?"

"About two seconds after the line retreated behind you, honey-girl," Daddy said, and leaned in close for a quick kiss on my temple. "Jocelyn, I'm proud of you. You saved us, kiddo."

"Not… not all of us, I don't think," I said, trying not to cry. "Nadia—"

"Nadia got hurt ten seconds in, honey," Daddy said. "That is _not_ your fault— it's entirely the fault of whoever's behind this, probably Warren and Company, like you thought."

He did something to my leg, and every muscle I had tensed up in agony as I fought against the urge to scream or fight him or both. Then everything swelled to white— and I passed out.

I woke up… later, I didn't know how much later, to find Aunt Dawn sitting beside me as I lay in my own bed, bandaging my left leg slowly and with great care. The leg hurt, but not nearly so much as it had, and I found myself grateful for the wisdom that Aunt Sh'rin had brought forward to our time, taught Aunt Dawn and the other Guardians.

"Look who's awake," Mom said from beside my head. "How you feelin', sweetie?"

"Sore," I admitted, stroking Ripley as she crowded close to my head and peeped her relief. "But okay, mostly. Thanks, Aunt Dawn."

"No problem, Jocelyn," Aunt Dawn said, smiling but not looking up from the bandaging. "Thank you, sweetheart. You saved us all. We couldn't have stood against that mess for much longer."

"Yay for Graham's explosive crazy-discs," I said. "Can I have a drink, maybe?"

Mom moved into my field of vision again, handed me a bottle-cooler cup that had a bottle of Green River soda in it. Green River is a hard-to-find, not-exactly-cheap small-company-made soda that Aunt Rose learned to love as a little girl, and hooked most of the rest of the family on— it's a treat to have one, and I knew that Mom was as proud of me as Daddy was. I drank half the bottle in one swig, belched, excused myself, then said, "Nadia? Vincent? Kimber?"

"Honey, you shouldn't oughtta—" Mom started.

"Please, Mom," I said. "I need to know. I'm not blaming me— really, I'm not. But I need to know."

Mom looked at Aunt Dawn, got a small nod, then sat down and took my hands in hers. "Nadia died, sugar— some damned jellyfish-walkin' thing stung her about a dozen times in a couple-three seconds, the way Kimber told it. Kimber's fine, or will be in a few days— stitches and ointments is all. Dawn and Sh'rin were able to fix Vincent up, too— but it took magic to graft his arm back on. Somethin' looked like a scarab on two legs took his left arm off 'bout halfway between wrist and elbow. Lydia's on the sick list for a while, something got her in the gut and she didn't notice 'til it was all over. Aamira lost the little finger on her left hand, somethin' ate it, so we can't put it back on, and she may lose the vision in her left eye, but she'll live. Your Daddy'll be sleepin' on his stomach a few days, somethin' with a lot of claws ripped his back up pretty good, but Sh'rin says it shouldn't even scar.

"Willow's on the incapacitated list for a day or so— she had to teleport the back-up in, and teleportin', that still leaves her with one hell of a headache.

"That's it, I think, if we don't count a lot of little stuff wouldn't even lay up a normal girl."

"Okay," I said. "Nadia… they'll send her h-home for burial?"

"Yes, honey," Mom said, stroking my hair. "But we'll have a service for her here, too."

"Okay," I said. "If I'm not walking around yet, can I get carried to it? Please? I didn't know her all that well, b-but she was one of us."

"We'll get you there," Mom said, and kissed my cheek. "We will. Promise.

"Hey, you feel up to a couple visitors?"

"Sure," I said. Aunt Dawn finished, stood, kissed my cheek, then went to the door and called someone in.

Judith came in, looking pale and worried, with Aunt Dawn's friend Sunset on one shoulder and Mom's Tracer in her arms. As Judith moved quickly towards the bed, both pseudo dragons headed for their best human friends, who slipped quietly from the room.

"Thank heavens you're all right," Judith breathed, sitting down and taking my hands in hers. "Whitey said you'd be fine, but you were so very pale— I was quite worried."

"I'll be fine," I said, and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. "Makes me feel all warm and tingly that you were so worried, though, thank you."

"You're quite welcome," Judith said, and gave me a small smile. "However, do promise that you won't get yourself injured again in order to capture that 'warm and tingly' feeling again, if you would?"

"I promise," I said with a chuckle. It faded as I thought of Nadia Szgany. "I wish we'd all gotten out, though."

"Don't you go blaming yourself, Jocelyn Kelly Penobscot!" Judith said sternly. "Xander said you might try, and that I was to threaten to use his nickname for you if you started."

At that point, Ripley sent me a thought, and I shook my head in mild amazement. "You've got a lot of nerve, Judith, telling me not to blame myself when Ripley says you were trying to blame yourself for seeing the patterns that led us to the plant. You were helping, nothing more— you had no way of knowing that was a trap. None of us experienced people saw it, even, not before it was too late. Do I need to threaten to call you 'Judy,' young lady?"

Judith blanched at that and rolled her eyes towards the ceiling. "Oh, please, no. All right, I'll not blame myself— Xander already gave me quite the dressing down for it, and the threat of _that nickname_ banishes all possibility. I shall behave— so long as you do."

"Okay, that's fair," I said. "Hey— I can't exactly go tromping downstairs tonight. Come bedtime, you think you might want to come up here? Not a night I want to be alone, now, and the sun'll come up on the other side of the house, you should be able to sleep."

Judith blushed, smiled and nodded. "I'd like that, yes. If your parents don't mind, I shall plan on it."

"Thanks," I said. I hesitated, then said, "It got… pretty intense, and there were some deeply disgusting critters in there. I may have nightmares."

"If you do, I shall endeavor to repay your comforting me when I suffer nightmares in a like coin," Jocelyn said, blushing but smiling. "Now… I did promise not to stay too long, as there are others waiting to see you, and Dawn says small numbers in the room, at least for tonight." She hugged me, long and firm, then kissed my cheek and said, "I'll be back at bedtime, if your parents allow it. In the meantime, do try not to act like my father— in short, do as the doctor tells you. Or, to forestall any attempts to get around this request, I suppose I should say 'do as the _healer_ tells you,' Jocelyn."

"Yes, ma'am," I said, and saluted her, smiling.

Judith laughed, stood and slipped out, and instead of Colin and Piper (whom I'd expected to come in next), Giles and Buffy came in and sat on either side of my bed, each taking a hand.

"You, young lady," Giles said without preamble, "saved a great many lives tonight. Thank you, Jocelyn."

"Yes," Buffy said. "We lost one, some were hurt— but if you hadn't blown open that wall, it would have been worse. Warren or Catherine or— well, some-damn-body thought to harden the place from the outside. The _Scythe_ wouldn't put a dent in the wall, not from the outside."

"Then we'd better be careful from here on out," I said, shivering. "Next time, they'll probably harden it inside and out."

"A valid point, thank you," Giles said. He squeezed my hand and said, "We shan't stay, there are others whose need to see you is stronger— but we both wanted to tell you that we're proud of you, and that you did very well."

"Thanks, Giles," I said. "Thanks, Buffy. I'm glad we didn't lose more people, and that everyone will be okay, or mostly okay. And… if Diane's worrying, or anyone else is, tell them that I'm not blaming myself for Nadia. Wish I could have saved her, but not blaming myself— just putting another entry on the list of reasons to kill Warren Mears as many times as I can."

"Thatta girl," Buffy said with a pleased nod. "That's the Jocelyn I remember."

They both hugged me, then got up to leave. At the door, Buffy stopped, looked back at me, and gave me the highest praise that she gives, when it comes to the job.

"You did it _right,_ Slayer," she said, grinning at me. "Get some rest, Jocelyn."

I sat and I glowed for a while, didn't stop until long after my lovers had come in and kissed me and expressed their relief that I wasn't too badly hurt. When they left (and no one hurried, despite the hour), Daddy came in with Mom, and they sat and cuddled me a bit, told me again how happy with me they were, then said that they were going to bed, taking Richter with them so he wouldn't accidentally hurt my leg, and that it was fine for Judith to stay with me.

When they went out, Judith came in, dressed for bed. We snuggled close right away, and she held me with a tenderness that was both new and very welcome, almost as though she were cradling me.

I fell asleep quickly, and I only woke once from a nightmare. In the dream, I was surrounded by a bunch of those vaguely humanoid jellyfish-things (jellyfish have creeped me out since I first saw a _picture_ of one), all of them lashing out at me with their thin, nerve-looking stinger-tendrils. I had my sword, and I managed to deflect the stings— but the stings kept eating away at the blade, making it shorter and shorter, leaving me less and less to defend myself with. Just as a stinger came at my face that I had no way to block— I jerked awake, found myself sitting up and gulping for air, and Judith sitting up and pulling me close.

"Ssh, just a dream," she said softly. "Just a dream, Jocelyn. It's all right, nothing will hurt you."

"Okay," I gulped, still breathing hard. "Okay, just a dream."

"Lie down, relax," Judith said, pulling me down with her. "I'll help you sleep again."

I don't know what I expected. Stroking my hair, rubbing my neck, maybe having me lie face down so she could rub my back. I should have known better. Judith sang, sang an old English lullaby (so she told me in the morning), and her voice and the light, soothing melody put me right to sleep.

"Lavender's blue, dilly dilly, lavender's green,

"When I am king, dilly, dilly, you shall be queen.

"Who told you so, dilly, dilly, who told you so?

" 'Twas my own heart, dilly, dilly, that told me so.

"Call up your men, dilly, dilly, set them to work

"Some with a rake, dilly, dilly, some with a fork.

"Some to make hay, dilly, dilly, some to thresh corn.

"While you and I, dilly, dilly, keep ourselves warm.

"Lavender's green, dilly, dilly, Lavender's blue,

"If you love me, dilly, dilly, I will love you.

"Let the birds sing, dilly, dilly, And the lambs play;

"We shall be safe, dilly, dilly, Out of harm's way.

"I love to dance, dilly, dilly, I love to sing;

"When I am queen, dilly, dilly, You'll be my king.

"Who told me so, dilly, dilly, Who told me so?

"I told myself, dilly, dilly, I told me so."

(I fell asleep before she reached the end, but had her sing it for me again later so I could get all the words.)

I woke in the morning— late for me, almost eight— feeling fine, except for a pressing need to use the bathroom. Judith handed me the crutches Dad had left for me the night before, let me hug her before I went to the bathroom, then helped me downstairs for breakfast.

I did the e-school thing that Brian Keller had set up for situations like this years ago, attending classes via webcams (except for PE, of course), and spent the day being lazy. Uncle Ballard told me over lunch that the other two sites had been abandoned, that Aunt Dawn and Aunt Sh'rin thought that there'd been magical gateways at all three places to send all the critters from each one to whichever one we found first— scary, that meant Catherine Madison had some serious zap going. (Couldn't have been Warren's super-science— my aunts found the traces of Catherine's spells.)

"So… we're back down to standby, for the moment," he said as he took my empty plate to rinse it for me. "Light patrols tonight, and a rapid response team ready here for deployment to wherever they might be needed. But my money is we won't have any problems. Warren isn't the type to keep trying a trick that didn't work, he'll back off and think of something new."

"Yay," I muttered. "You think I could help play Watcher tonight? Sit with Giles and play research assistant, or something?"

"I'll bet he'd like that," Uncle Ballard said. "You can ask when he gets home."

I did ask, and Giles did like it— but Uncle Ballard called it right. Bunches of nothing much happened, and I got chased to bed at eleven. I went downstairs with Judith that night— one less flight of stairs by not going up to my room on the third floor— and slept the night through peacefully.

Friday I went to school, walked with a cane, but went. I sat out PE, but that wasn't too bad, I still got to watch.

Friday night, I got a bomb of the best kind dropped on me.


	38. Secondary Assault

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 38: Secondary Assault

Friday daytime went long and slow and lazy. By the time lunch came around, I didn't need the cane anymore, had gotten down to a slight limp. No PE still, but I'd be allowed to train at home Saturday, and be back in full fighting form by Monday.

Friday when I got home from school, since I couldn't train, I let Colin kidnap me. We made love for an hour or so, then snuggled until time for my appointment with Diane. That went well— even though I think she might have been worried that it wouldn't.

"So, I hear you kicked ass and took names Wednesday night, Jocelyn," Diane said after we'd settled into our usual chairs. "How do you feel about that?"

"I managed to save most of my team," I said, smiling a little sadly. "As much as _could_ be saved, Nadia died too soon for me to do anything about it. I feel… pretty damned happy with myself. Also very grateful to Graham for the explosive crazy-discs. Overall? I'm good with being on a team again, totally good with it."

"Do you think you're ready to lead a team yet?" Diane asked, her voice level.

"No, not yet," I said with a sigh. "Diane… there's a difference between being willing to work with a team, working to save a team— and leading one. I can pull my weight, I'm confident of that much now, but leading? Deciding on tactics, putting the lives of other Slayers and of Guardians and Watchers on those decisions? No. No, not yet."

"You made a decision Wednesday night, Jocelyn," Diane pointed out. "A big one, one that saved lives."

"Yes, but— but that wasn't about how to do things," I said, searching for the right words. "That was an escape, not an assault, Diane, and it's different. Besides, that decision wasn't based on me being a better leader than Alina— it was all about me having the needed equipment."

Diane smiled widely and said, "Okay, good. I was afraid you'd be too cocky too quickly. You aren't going that route, thank you.

"Okay, no leading. How would you feel about soloing?"

"I… don't think I'm ready." I shook my head, pushed my hair back and thought for a moment before continuing. "I would if it was necessary. If there needed to be Slayers in a dozen places, and I was one of only twelve available Slayers? Yes, I'd go. I'd be scared out of my tiny-rabbit-mind, but I'd do it."

"Also a good answer," Diane said, giving me a nod. "Okay.

"Have you had any bad dreams about that night, Jocelyn?"

We talked until almost supper, then went to eat— and found out that Judith hadn't been kidding when she said her parents' housekeeper had taught her to cook. Lamb chops in this orange glaze stuff that had a hint of mint to it, roasted potatoes that were spicy enough to get Xander to notice that they were spicy (not easy, that— he has an asbestos tongue), fresh peas and baby carrots, and these slightly sweet yeasty rolls that had me drooling for more.

I had cleanup duty that night with Riley, and after we'd finished, I let Colin and Piper kidnap me for a while. Judith still wanted company— her nightmares had backed way down, but not stopped— so I'd be staying with her that night.

I came back down about nine-thirty, freshly showered and still a little dazed from the sex and snuggling, found Judith working with Joyce on her voice while accompanying her on the guitar she'd brought over from the music room in the guest house. I joined most everyone else in listening to that, then walked with Judith out to the guest house to put the guitar back about ten-thirty. When we came back, Judith went to talk to Colin for a minute while I told my folks, Gwen and my sibs good night.

When we got downstairs, Judith said, "I need a shower, I think. I shan't be long, Jocelyn."

I sat on the bed and read (aloud, so Ripley could hear) while Judith got clean. When she came back in, dressed in sweats and a T-shirt as usual, her hair was up and wrapped in a towel. She asked me to brush it for her, and I did, sitting up on my knees on the bed while I dried her hair thoroughly, then brushed out the incipient tangles. Once I was done, Judith dropped that bomb of the best kind that I mentioned a while ago on me.

"Jocelyn," Judith said, her voice low and soft and very serious, "would you braid my hair for me, please?"

I sat with my mouth open, stunned, for a long moment, remembering what she'd said the night that she'd come here, when I'd offered to braid it for her.

"_That I'll do myself," Judith had said, blushing deeply and smiling a slightly embarrassed smile. "I know it's odd, but for me that is… very intimate." I'd looked puzzled, and she'd said "Mother allowed no one to braid her hair besides Father, and I could see the… intimacy in that act, the few times I saw it, so it has assumed that same significance in my mind."_

I knew what she was offering— and before I could screw things up, I heard Ripley's voice in my head.

_*Is okay, you love her,*_ Ripley said. _*Judith knows you love others. They know she wanted this. She talk to them, tell them that yes, she love them— but not ready to show that this way, not yet. They understand— they love her back. All want you both happy. You love her as you love them, Colin, Piper, they be happy for you both. Judith, she needs one at a time at first, she knows that, they know that. After been with each alone, wants to be with all. Is harder for her, she must not hurry, for how her world was. But she wants, truly wants— and others want, too. They both tell me tell you to do this, be happy. So don't be silly, I not want to bite you._*

How do you argue with logic like that, let alone the threat of baby-pseudo-dragon bites?

"Are you sure?" I asked, stroking that thick, onyx hair with one hand.

"I'm very sure," Judith said, her voice soft and low. "I… have known for many years that I find both sexes attractive. I never thought… I never even dreamed of being _comfortable_ with that, not before I came here. Now… I love you, Jocelyn Penobscot. I love those you are already in love with, though… I need some time before I move to loving them physically, I think, and still more time before I am able to love all of you physically at once. I've spoken to the others, they know—"

"I know, Judith," I said from where I still knelt up behind her. "Ripley gave me a message from them so that I'd know they know, know that they're all okay with this." I ran my fingers through her hair, started separating it into three thick strands, began the work of braiding them together. I felt Judith shiver, heard her make a low, pleased sound in her throat, and knew that it had been a shiver of pleasure. "I'm past okay with it, I hope you know that. I found you attractive pretty much right away, learned to love you really fast, and fell _in_ love with you almost that quick.

"I'm so glad that it works both ways that even trying to tell you would be pointless. I love you, Judith Holmes."

"I love you, too, Jocelyn Penobscot." Judith shifted just a little to make it easier for me to work, and I heard amusement in her voice as she said, "However, given the examples set by my parents… do try not to be upset if I should fall into the habit of calling you 'Penobscot.' "

I chuckled, remembering how her mother and father had called each other 'Holmes' and 'Russell' all through the books, even after they were married, and even in situations that might be called intimate. "I won't be upset— but it may be hysterically funny to watch Giles's face the first time you do it in front of him."

Even though my horniness had climbed through the roof, I took my time braiding Judith's hair, did it slowly, carefully and correctly, made it as sensual as I could. As I wrapped a braided elastic around the base of the braid to hold it together, Ripley snuggled into Judith's arms for a moment, then came to snuggle against me for a hug before flapping to the door— open just a crack— and wiggling out. We both knew that she'd come back after we'd made love, not before.

Judith turned to face me, sitting sideways on the bed, and kissed me. She hadn't done it much before, I could tell, but still… I melted up against her, moaned into her mouth… and we made love.

It went slow, much more so than is usual for me, but she needed it that way, and I wouldn't have frightened or rushed her for the world. So… slow it was.

Judith looked different, nude. Still skinny, but not _as_ skinny. We made love for a long time, didn't stop until after one, and fell asleep tangled up like baby pseudo dragons, with Ripley asleep on the pillow above our heads.

When we came up together the next morning holding hands, only my brother Stephen looked at all surprised. Mom and Dad just looked at each other and Gwen, then held out their hands to her. Gwen sighed and handed each of them a quarter (which set me to giggling and Judith to blushing). Piper kissed me good morning first, then hugged Judith when she passed me to Colin to kiss. He did the same, kissed me, hugged her, and it felt… extremely right.

As we trooped over to Scooby Mansion for breakfast, I walked with my folks and said, "No more school nights with Judith— not like you didn't know that, but I thought I ought to say it."

"Now, don't go gettin' too honest on me, sugar," Mom said, hugging me one-armed and kissing my cheek. "Girl's still in a little pain, still a little lost. She needs you, you stay with her— and that's a damn order. I just ask that you keep it to snugglin', if that comes around on a week night."

"Okay," I said, and returned Mom's kiss. "Daddy, is that okay with you?"

"Honey-girl, I learned a long time ago never to argue with your mother once her mind's made up," Daddy said. He squeezed Gwen, walking on his other side, and added, "It's a good habit with this one, too— so I'm actually grateful for your mother's stubborn ways.

"You stay with Judith when she needs you— considered the decision ratified."

"Thanks, Daddy, thanks Mom," I said. "I love you guys. Lucked out big time in the parent department— three times, even, cause I love you, too, Gwen."

"An' a better set of adopted children a girl could not ask for, to be sure," Gwen said, and blew me a kiss. "Here now— you're of a like mind to me, I'm thinkin' Jocelyn. Your father objects to the name I'd give our child, should he be a son. What is it you think of the name Owen Whitelaw Penobscot?"

"I like it," I said, and stuck my tongue out when Daddy glared and growled. "It gives him Daddy's name without saddling him with a name you wouldn't give a kid. It's just a middle name, Dad, lighten up. And I really like the name Owen."

"Okay, okay," Dad said, rolling his eyes. "I'm outvoted, I get it. But if it is a boy, and you do name him Owen Whitelaw, when he asks me why he's got such a god-awful middle name? I'm pointing at whichever of you is closest."

"What have you got for a girl?" I asked.

"On that, we agree, at least," Gwen said, and kissed Daddy's cheek. "Should I have a girl, her name will be Alyssa Michelle Penobscot, the Michelle being for Whitey's mother."

"That is seriously pretty," I said. "I sort of hope it's a girl, now."

"As do I," Gwen said, and leaned forward to grin at me across Daddy's chest. "If for no other reason than it gives us one more ally in the battle to keep him behavin', it does."

"I'm so henpecked," Daddy said as we entered Scooby Mansion, "that I'm pathetic."

"Welcome to the club," Xander said, having caught that part of the conversation. "Buffy says 'ice cream,' I say, 'what flavor?' "

"He's well-trained," Buffy agreed, and kissed Xander briefly.

The day went well. I eased back into training, had no troubles after I worked out the stiffness in my calf. I took a good look at it while stretching, discovered that, as usual, Aunt Dawn's treatment had left a smaller scar than a doctor would have. All I had left of that injury was a thin white line, almost a complete oval. I could live with that.

I stayed with Judith again that night, and the sex stayed marvelous. (Not that I ignored my other lovers— I spent the mid-to-late afternoon in bed with first Piper, then Colin joined us, then Piper slipped out for a while left me and Colin alone for a bit, then came back and wouldn't let me leave, since she and Colin were getting alone time when I was with Judith. Even the incredible horndog that is me was pretty well sated by suppertime.)

We came to up breakfast the next morning to discover Buffy, Xander and Joyce already there, and Joyce was so bubbly that she almost floated.

"Leia's eggs hatched about three this morning!" Joyce said. "After breakfast do you guys want to come see them?"

That met with a rousing "yes!"— of course. About then Ian came down, and Joyce was so bubbly-happy that she did something she'd never done in front of anyone else before then, and certainly not in front of her parents; she grabbed him and kissed the ever-loving _heck_ out of him.

"Uh, good morning," Ian said, blushing furiously— but grinning happily. "What was that for? Is it something that's likely to happen again? If so, how do I make it happen again?"

"Leia's eggs hatched!" Joyce said— and Ian grinned and hugged her, his blush fading already (probably helped by neither Buffy nor Xander making a big deal of the kiss).

"Okay, I can't make that happen again, but it will happen again— good enough," Ian said.

Breakfast was a merry affair, what with the prospect of more pseudo dragon babies. After breakfast, Joyce got up and said, "Judith, you want to see them now?"

"Of course, please," Judith said. She stood, extended a hand to me and said, "Coming, Penobscot?"

I took her hand, stood, and kissed her briefly, said, "Wouldn't miss it, Holmes."

Giles almost choked on his tea at that— priceless!

The five babies were as cute as baby pseudo dragons always are. Two blues, one sky-bright, one navy, one a funny shade of dusty red that Judith called "Persian red," one a brilliant, bright silver, like polished chrome, and the last of the hatchlings was a bright shade of orange-gold, and had a metallic look to him.

Judith couldn't stop staring at and (once Leia gave permission) petting the babies, all of whom loved her— though maybe the little orange-gold boy liked her more than most….

We finally left and went home, spent the day goofing off in lots of neat little ways… nothing strenuous or notable happened at all. Nifty. And relaxing.

Monday evening, Judith disappeared with Piper right after supper, and when they came back down at bedtime, I knew that they had made love just from looking at them— good! I spent the night with Judith, just snuggled as I'd agreed with my parents, but she wanted the company.

Tuesday night, Judith slept alone, and seemed okay Wednesday morning.

Thursday night, after supper, Judith was sitting in the music room in the guest house, playing the piano and singing idly, when the little orange-gold baby pseudo dragon flew over (he'd been flying since that morning) and landed on her shoulder, seemed perfectly content to sit there and listen, his head bobbing and swinging in time with the music. When she finished the piece she was playing, he burble-peeped and nudged her cheek with his head. She turned to smile at him— and her eyes went wide even as a huge smile spread across her face.

"Oh, thank you!" she said, and kissed the baby pseudo dragon on the top of his head. She turned to grin at the rest of us and said, "This young man has told me that his name is Dashiell— named for my dearest adult friend from my original Earth, Dashiell Hammett, I'm sure— and that he intends to stay with me."

We whooped and cheered, and Judith stopped playing for a few minutes to cuddle Dashiell before returning to playing at her pseudo dragon friend's insistence.

As we walked back to the house after a while, Dashiell on Judith's shoulder, she said, "I wouldn't have met Dashiell Hammett in the novels Laurie King has written yet, I suppose. I met him when my parents took me with them to San Francisco in thirty-three, and they ended up helping him with a case. They'd met him when they were there on their trip right before I was conceived, come to like him. He became my friend very quickly— he was a wonderful man, never treated me as a child, spoke to me as an adult, as my parents did— and gave me copies of the four novels he'd published by then, autographed each. We maintained correspondence, and he sent me autographed copies of each of his novels. I miss him, of course— but Dashiell the second, here, will help with that, I'm sure."

"You bet he will," I said, kissing Ripley's head. "Trust me, I know. Ripley keeps me from missing Royal too much— I just miss him in the good way, now, if you get me?— and Royal made missing Alex, Joyce's brother, bearable."

"Yes, I can readily believe it," Judith said. (She'd read Aunt Rose's book by then, asked someone why Royal wasn't with me still, and gotten the full story.) She looked thoughtful, then said, "You know, in all the rush to learn things about the history and ways of both this world and your family, I've yet to learn anything serious about technology. Perhaps I should—"

"Our," I interrupted.

"I beg your pardon?"

"_Our_ family, Judith. Not just mine. Yours, too."

"I… oh, dammit, Penobscot, you've made me lose my train of thought." She kissed me, nodded at me and said, "Our family, thank you— and you were quite correct to make the distinction.

"Now, if I may continue— perhaps I should learn something more about your technology. After all I do enjoy the sciences."

"Talk to Brian Keller," I said as we headed inside. "He'll have to check with Giles first, I think, but I'm pretty sure Giles will okay it. After all, you saw the patterns of the vamp attacks, so we already know you can help us, _want_ to help us— and knowing more about today's technology may help with that."

"An excellent idea," Judith said— and we went in and eventually to bed in our separate rooms.

In the morning, Judith didn't come up right away for breakfast. In her delight at her new friendship with Dashiell, she'd forgotten to set an alarm. I went down to wake her, cracked the door— and wished like hell for a camera. Judith lay flat on her back, sheets kicked to the foot of the bed, and Dashiell was curled into a tight little gold-orange ball on her stomach— under the arch of the long, slender fingers of one of Judith's hands. Cute!

Things stayed quiet for a while, another week. Judith made love with Colin Wednesday evening of that week, and said that she wanted to sleep with all of us some time soon, which we all looked forward to.

Saturday morning, the very early morning of September 22nd of 2018, Warren again attacked Team Slayer— and things got crazy-hard-and-heavy after that.

Judith had gone off to sleep with Piper, and probably to make love with her, so I'd gone to sleep with Colin. I woke at about three in the morning to Ripley's insistent calling in my head.

_*Jocelyn, you must wake,*_ Ripley said. _*You are needed. All active Slayers are needed— Piper and Colin, too, but Hulk and Twilight wake them. You go to library in Scooby Mansion. I not know what wrong, but Bookmark angry— and scared._*

Giles's pseudo dragon pal angry and scared— not good, very bad. "I'm moving."

Five minutes later, I was in the library of Scooby Mansion with the rest of the active Slayers, in school or out, plus… well, most everyone else. Even Ian and Judith were there, and Joyce Harris sat with her dad, looking worried.

Kelly Giles sat at the table at the head of the room with Giles standing behind her and Aunt Rose beside her, and she and Aunt Rose were both crying.

As soon as the last of us had sat down, Giles said, "I am again trapped by circumstances into stating something baldly that I wish I could take the time to say more gently; our Montana branch of the Giles Academy— and of Team Slayer— has been attacked. We got very little before the communications were cut off, but it sounds as though there's been a… a massacre. We do know that Mary and Stephen Osborne, Kelly's sister and her husband, have been killed."

We sat stunned for a moment, then Joyce spat, "Warren! It was him wasn't it!?"

"In all likelihood, yes," Giles said. He polished his glasses, paused to squeeze Kelly's shoulder, and said, "The report we received came from a young trainee, and she was… close to panic. She did, however, mention that she had seen vampires, many other supernatural creatures— and robots.

"We shall take our jet out there immediately, as Willow cannot reach their on-site witch telepathically, so cannot open a gate for us."

"Wait," Colin said. "Could Dawn open things at that end, if she was there? Or Sh'rin?"

"Yes, of course, but— oh, bloody _hell,_ I'm too old for this!" Giles said, rubbing his temples with one hand. "How long would it take you to get one of them there?"

"Open country, unfamiliar site— better allow me half an hour, sir," Colin said. "I'll get changed, whichever of you is going get what you need."

Aunt Dawn stood up, kissed her family goodbye, and strode out of the room, moving at almost a run.

"All right," Giles said. "The rest of you… this is likely to be dangerous beyond the telling, so I want all of you to wear your armor. Go get changed, meet— Willow?"

"Big diagram for bigger door, so no one has to go through solo," Wil said. "Make it the back yard here."

The doors to the library flew open, and my little sister Belinda came running in with my brother Stephen on her heels— and everyone paid attention.

"Mi Kyong has to go!" Belinda said, stopping herself in front of Giles and grabbing his arms. "She has to go to be able to see and remember! And you have to take everyone here, too, Giles, even Joyce and Ian and Judith, because everyone has a part to play— and you should call Uncle Ethan and… and listen to the head because it can't lie, and the web-guy, he'll be calling and _you have to listen_— or it all falls down!"

"She just— I heard her door slam and I thought I should follow her," my brother Stephen said into the sudden, shocked silence.

"All right, Stephen, you did the right thing," Daddy said. "But you go on back now, in case Danielle wakes up scared. We'll be along in a couple of minutes, we'll explain then, okay?"

"Yes, sir," Stephen said. He hesitated, then hugged Dad, Mom and Belle before coming over to hug me and leaving.

"All right," Giles said. "Belinda, is there anything else you can tell us?"

"I… let me think." My little sister, looking far too resolute and grim for a ten-year old, closed her eyes and muttered softly to herself. After most of a minute, she sighed and said, "One more thing, but it doesn't even make as much sense as the rest of what I said. Stupid Powers!"

"Tell us, sweetie," Mom said softly.

"You have to trust confusion's end," Belinda said. "You have to let… let the reborn follow what she knows to be true, even if it make no sense."

"All right, Belinda," Giles said, and bent to hug her. "Thank you, dear child— you may well have made it possible for us to prevent whatever deviltry Warren is up to, young lady, and I, for one, am very grateful."

"Okay," Belle said. She had tear tracks on her face, which scared me, but her voice stayed steady. "Okay. Everyone be careful, and… and you have to remember the other things I told you.

"This is it. This is their big attack. This is… how it starts. I know that, I just… don't know any more than that."

"All right, Belinda," Giles said. "We shall be careful, I promise— and we'll remember the things you've said, all of them.

"I think you should hug your family and go try to sleep, young lady."

Belle hugged Mom, Dad and Gwen, then came and hugged me super-hard. She looked up at me without letting go and said in a very soft voice, "Don't worry. Trust the Powers. Trust yourself. You have to trust yourself, Jocelyn. You _have to_."

"Okay, Belle," I said. I kissed her cheek, then said, "Go on home. I'll try to bring you a souvenir— maybe one of Warren's heads, you can use it for kickball."

She didn't even smile, just nodded, turned away— then froze in mid-turn, and looked at Joyce for a long moment. After that moment, Joyce felt Belinda's stare, and looked up at her. A moment after that, she slipped out from between her dad and Ian and came over to Belle, stopped in front of her and said, "Is there something I should know, Belinda?"

"Yes," said Belinda in a voice that sounded almost nothing like herself. "Yes. Your coming was seen by those who named your family to their natures— as was the coming of one other, about whom we may not speak yet. But you… there is something you must know, and as we are forbidden to tell you directly, we will tell you in two parts.

"First, know that to the Guardians of Sh'rin's time, you, Daughter of the Prime, Daughter of the Heart, are named what you do not now believe you can be; those women call you 'the Complete.'

"Second… when you see what cannot be, it _is_— and you _must_ trust in that which you see."

"I… all right," Joyce said, looking and sounding a little shaken. "All right. Thank you."

Belle shook herself, looked around and said in her own, normal voice, "I did it again, didn't I? Did I say something good?"

"You did," Joyce said, and hugged my psychic little sister hard. "You did, Belle, thank you."

"Okay," Belle said. She squeezed my hand once, then said, "I'm going to bed— you guys can tell me about it when it's all over. And I expect the full story, not some 'edited for children' version."

She went off to bed, and I went to get changed and tell Mi Kyong that she was coming with us.

Fifteen minutes later, I gathered with the others in the back yard, where Willow was putting the finishing touches on her magic circles. I had on my armor— dark grey and black leather with metal and plastic reinforcements— and my START jacket and cap, worn as much for luck as anything else. Piper had her "regulation" armor on— but had added the white spider from her costume-version on a red circle, a couple of inches across, over her left breast. I liked it, and when Buffy saw it, she snickered and gave Piper a thumbs up.

Almost exactly half an hour after Colin and Aunt Dawn had left, Wil smiled a little and said, "Hey, Dawnie. Ready for the opening?"

We didn't hear Aunt Dawn's reply, but it must have been a yes, because Willow started an incantation, complete with lots of gestures and the whole magilla. A couple of minutes of that, and a hole opened in space, a hole edged with white light, and we saw a hillside, Aunt Dawn kneeling on it, and Colin— Starpulse, he was in costume— standing a ways behind her.

"By twos," Buffy called. "One Slayer in every pair, regardless. Willow last, since her passing through will close the gate."

With that, Buffy took Giles by the hand and stepped through the gate. The rest lined up by twos, and I went through with Mi Kyong, right behind Judith and Piper. (Piper counts as a slayer— with bonus powers.) As soon as we got there, we saw a whole freaking platoon of START soldiers off to one side, Graham at the front, a cargo helicopter just taking off from behind them.

Mi Kyong stiffened suddenly, and started walking that way, tugging me with her, and I went, though I wasn't sure why she wanted to go over there. As we walked, Mi Kyong whispered softly-but-urgently to Fog— and when we got close, I dropped her hand and went to stand at attention before Graham and salute (properly— he'd taught me how when I was a very little girl). He grinned, saluted back, and I dropped mine. He reached for me—

— and all hell broke loose behind him, as Mi Kyong threw herself at a START corporal, shrieking a kiai as she kicked the shocked soldier so hard that he flew back past the back of the formation as his fellow soldiers dodged aside and tried to restrain Mi Kyong, who'd already started after the man with murder in her eyes.


	39. Power Play

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 39: Power Play

I stared blankly for a moment as Mi Kyong, tiny, good-natured, level-headed Mi Kyong, leapt after the START soldier she'd attacked, then I went that way to restrain her— until Ripley cried in my head, _*No, Jocelyn! Mi Kyong RIGHT! He not person, not have mind like person, we can't reach him!_*

Even as Ripley told me that, Mi Kyong reached the soldier she'd attacked, kicked him down as he tried to stand— then went flying through the air with a "whoof" of surprise as he kicked up from the ground, kicked her in the stomach harder than any normal soldier could have done, sent her flying.

I saw Starpulse rise up into the air to catch her before she fell, and I relaxed on that count— even as I tensed up, realized exactly what I was facing and started towards the "soldier."

"Hey, look, I don't know what's going on here, b—" the 'soldier' started to say.

"Save it, you filthy, blender-boinking Ronco reject!" I said, moving into the ginga, letting the things I remembered from my last fight with Warren help me set the tone for this one. "Too late, Warren— you're busted!"

The Warren-bot— and it was a Warren, even though it looked nothing like the current or original models— stood straight, smiled an almost _sunny_ smile, and said, "Well, okay— I want to kill you more than I want to kill GI Joe anyway, you little bitch."

"You murdered my friend," I said, still moving in the ginga, letting the inherent insanity of Capoeira pull me into steps that I didn't plan, just let happen, hoping that would confuse him. "You murdered a friend I'd had since before I can even remember— and you think you're going to kill me?

"It's not happening, you miserable excuse for a food processor!"

The Warren-bot flexed both hands and those long, razor-sharp blades he'd intended to use on Buffy, that I'd kept him from using on her the day he murdered Royal, popped out of his fingertips. I grinned, stopped the ginga, took Buffy's favorite fighting stance— and leaped.

Warren-bot moved to meet me and I knew from his first movement that I'd already won.

He planned to fight me exactly the way he'd fought Buffy the day he'd tried to fool us all into letting him attack a lot of our stations by letting us kill him, the day he'd murdered Royal. I had to be careful, in case that was some sort of lulling tactic, but I didn't think so. Warren had never been a fighter, wouldn't have thought of having a lot of different fighting routines in his memory banks, or positronic matrix or whatever.

Add in that I was furious— in-control-furious, not the blind rage I'd been in the day he'd killed my Royal— and that I knew how to use that fury, and I knew I could beat him.

I continued fighting like Buffy, went after him with a mixture of Hwa Rang Do and tiger-and-leopard kung fu, gave him something familiar to fight, at least at first, and fought to keep a grin off my face as he responded in the same ways he'd responded to Buffy that horrible day. I had to be careful of the blades on his fingers, but that didn't change all that much.

No one tried to help. No one interfered. They understood, even Buffy. Buffy and I each had a reason to hate him, and hers was, if I'm going to be honest with myself, more pressing than mine in a lot of ways. But I was only almost-fifteen, and I hadn't had her experience with dealing with losing people I cared about, didn't have her maturity to help me past it— so she let me have this Warren-bot.

(Besides, we both knew that there'd be more of him to kill.)

I let Warren run the fight for a minute or so, stayed defensive, made absolutely sure that he had nothing new in his fight routines— then I let go, turned loose that cold, hard fury that had been plotting this since the day I buried Royal, and I killed that Warren-bot.

He'd grown cocky (though I noticed that he'd not talked and insulted through our fight, as he had through Buffy's fight with him that day, and knew that the ranting and screaming had been an act, a way to disarm us, to make us reduce the threat category we put him in), and I'd let him have a few shots, all kicks, so that he wouldn't cut me with his razor-tipped hands. I changed the tone of things suddenly, stopped fighting like Buffy and started fighting like _me_.

Warren kicked at my stomach and I back-flipped away from him, landed in the ginga, flung myself into a cartwheel, slammed first my left foot then my right across his head, sent him staggering. I pressed him, followed in the ginga, did a series of three spinning, head-to-the-ground-foot-to-his-head kicks, drove him back farther and harder, then bounced into a back aerial, slammed my feet up under his chin, felt something break, saw his head dangling off of the back of his neck, his body staggering around as his visual sensors fell into a position where he couldn't see me.

He still didn't say anything— but I didn't mind that, I didn't need him to speak to maintain my anger.

While he staggered around, trying to work out a way to attack me and see me at the same time, I did a series of back handsprings, stopped some forty feet from him, close to where my family stood watching silently. I turned, charged him, ran for twenty feet, then did three neat handsprings, bounced into the air as high as I could go, drew my longsword in mid-leap, and came down swinging it at his torso.

I split that worthless pile of misbegotten microchips _almost_ completely in half down the middle, took a shock in doing so, but my armor was insulated, so it was a mild one.

I stood there gulping air for a long moment, then heard approaching footsteps. I glanced back to see Buffy almost to me, reaching out to hug me, and I met her halfway, hugged her while Starpulse slagged the robot, taking no chance that it would somehow get up and hurt someone like the last one had me.

"Good job, Jocelyn," Buffy said against my ear. "You fought him smart— I saw what you were doing, letting him think you fought just like me by default, suckering him into giving you your shot.

"You did it right, Slayer."

I smiled a little, squeezed her again, then she moved to let my folks hug me, tell me they were proud of me, that I'd fought him exactly how I should have. Then my lovers all kissed me, then Mi Kyong, smiling hugely, hugged me hard.

"Part of that Slayer dream you had?" I asked when we parted.

"Yes," Mi Kyong said. "I saw Graham standing before the START soldiers in formation and that part of the dream— in which a machine killed Graham by ambushing him from the ranks— came back to me, so I had Fog try to touch each person's mind. When she could not touch that of the soldier I attacked, I knew him to be not human, and what I'd seen in the dream told me he was a robot. I hadn't expected him to be a version of Warren— but I am glad that a piece of that monster is dead."

"Thanks for saving Graham, Mi Kyong," I said, and gave her another hug and a kiss on the cheek. "And for giving me a shot at another of Warren's selves. I pick good sisters, I do."

"You are welcome," she said, and gave me a smile.

"All right, people," Xander called. "Time to move out. The Giles Academy Ranch is just over that hill and a half a mile on. Colin scouted it, and it looks like there are still a lot of critters around, even a _whole_ lot. They seem to be focused on the barn, which leads us to believe that there may be survivors in the shelter under the barn— so we're going to focus on breaking their assault on the shelter. Giles has IDed a bunch of the nasties, he'll brief you on banes, then Buffy on battle plan.

"Graham— thanks for coming, you're going to be a big help."

"No problem, Xander," Graham said, then looked at Buffy. "My team and I are at your disposal, Buffy— you give orders, we follow them."

Buffy nodded her thanks, then pulled Graham into a huddle with her, Xander, Giles, Kelly, Daddy, Ballard, Aunt Dawn, Lydia and Vincent to make plans.

Shortly we started over the hill and into battle.

Buffy had left Giles, Kelly, Brian Keller, Mi Kyong, Judith, Ian, Joyce, Willow, Starpulse, three experienced Slayers and a squad of START soldiers behind at our gate-in point to set up a small command post (Brian had what was needed for a command post in two big briefcases— he's amazing!) and keep track of things for us via video feeds from our night-vision goggles and the info fed to them by their pseudo dragons, who'd be flying high cover for us. The baby pseudo dragons, including Ripley, Hulk and Twilight, stayed at the gate-point, too.

I was assigned to the scout group, consisting of Aunt Elaine (in charge), Aunt Rose (not in charge only because of her emotional involvement), Vi and Vincent, Graham, Aunt Sh'rin (a master sneak) and a Native American Slayer named Shanna Red Leaf who, quite frankly, could out-sneak a frightened mouse. And me, of course. Behind us by about fifty yards came the main battle group, led by Buffy, and behind that, the ranged-combat-specialists-slash-reinforcements, led by Mom. The main group had two squads of START soldiers, and Mom's group had the last of the four START squads.

The Montana branch of the Giles Academy had been started before Giles bought the old Winston Academy and took it over, before the reality of the supernatural and the existence of Slayers had become public knowledge. Back in those days, Giles had thought (reasonably, I think) that he'd have to have a lot of schools to keep things going without drawing the attention of the masses. After the Battle of Bloomington and all that came after, he'd been able to do it more simply, all the newly activated Slayers coming to Bloomington to school, but he hadn't closed the Montana branch. Instead, he'd kept it going with a smaller staff, and sent to them the girls whose lives hadn't left them well-adapted for urban life. Girls who'd spent their entire lives on farms, in the woods, in small, one-crossroad communities, those who just couldn't handle crowds yet. The big empty of Montana made a great way for those girls to adapt, and as they got more used to people, they were taken on field trips to bigger and bigger towns, and eventually sent on to the main campus of the Academy in Bloomington. In addition, every girl from the school spent two semesters out here, the timing judged by the faculty at the main campus. You learned woodcraft, survival, tracking, and the simple necessities of living off of the land, taking care of animals, riding a horse, all that stuff. I'd done my first semester here already, the first half of my seventh grade year, and Mom had said I'd probably do the first half of my sophomore year— fall of 2019— here as well.

If, of course, this disaster didn't result in the closing of the Montana campus.

We got close, and I started getting a mixture of nauseous and furious. There were bodies in a lot of places, and no few of them were our people, some Slayers— mostly too young to be fully trained— some Watchers, some support staff and normal staff, the ranch hands and the people who took care of the livestock.

And the horses. They'd killed all the horses. That made me angry on a different level. The people, they'd known this could happen. They hadn't deserved it, they probably hadn't really believed that it could happen to them, but they'd had the knowledge. The horses didn't know, couldn't understand— and that left me yet another variety of pissed off.

Then we came on our first demons, a pair of Silthiss demons, which looked a lot like somebody crossed a baboon and a cobra— unpleasant and ugly, in other words. The things were crouched over a dead horse, eating its brains.

Last meal. Aunt Elaine and Aunt Rose took them down _fast,_ beheaded them neatly and in a single swipe each. From there, we got more careful, moved more slowly, made more effort at silence. We did okay— right up until the damned flying robot-thing swooped over the house, sensed us somehow, hit us with multiple spotlights and set off loud, annoying sirens.

At that point, it turned into a battle, a big, long, bloody battle.

_Interlude: Bloomington, Illinois_

"Okay, they're at the ranch," Warren said from where he sat on a couch in Catherine's little house. "The stuff is loaded into a dupe of me, one that's programmed to run from anyone but Buffy, and to run from her if she isn't using her favorite toy.

"It's on."

"Good," Catherine Madison said, standing and smoothing the black slacks she wore. "Drusilla, are you ready to go? You know how to use the charm?"

"Yes, I'm ready," Drusilla said, pulling her dyed-blond hair back into a neat ponytail and standing up. "I understand what to do with the charm, too." She held up a simple crystal necklace on a leather thong and said, "When it lights up orange, I go after Faith and touch her with it. When it lights up red after I've touched her, I smash it. Then… goodbye Faith, goodbye Angel, and hello Helena the vampire— after I've done to her the things her father did to me, at least."

"All right then," Catherine said. "My circles are ready, and by doing this on the Autumnal Equinox instead of the Winter Solstice, I've greatly reduced the bleed-over from other dimensions— thus keeping the enemy in the dark, despite some of that bleed-over landing right in their laps."

"Okay, so we're ready to roll," Warren said. He stood and looked at his two allies, nodded once and said, "I'm already aboard Asimov Station, lots of me, anyway. Catherine, four of me will stay to guard you and get the rest of my revenge, one in LA, waiting for Dru to make sure nothing interferes with her work, and there's the sacrifice fake-me at Rancho Giles. After that… well, I have a dozen of me in reserve for a second sacrifice play, just in case.

"Ladies… whatever happens, it's been a real pleasure. See you after it's done."

With that, Warren— one of him— left to go and make sure that the site for Catherine's primary spell would be ready for her to do her work, Drusilla let Catherine transfer her to Los Angeles via a gate spell (with a well-paid Urtulal demon sorcerer on the other end), and Catherine, after sending Dru to her destination, sat down to wait for the proper moment to start her spell.

_Montana: Jocelyn_

One second, we were sneaking along successfully, the next we had spotlights on us and sirens alerting everything within a half a mile to our presence. Before we could do anything about the flying robot-thing, a wave of demons of many varieties came at us from the direction of the big, mansion-sized ranch house to our left.

"We're made, Buffy, get up here!" Aunt Elaine snapped into her headset radio— and flung herself into the ginga as a demon that looked like a greasy-furred wasp on two legs came after her.

Even as I drew my longsword and waded into the battle, I almost got distracted by Aunt Rose and Vincent.

"Vincent, high and right!" Aunt Rose shouted— and ran right at Vincent as she drew her sword.

Vincent turned, glanced past her, nodded, and laced his big, capable hands into a stirrup. Aunt Rose leaped at him, landed with both feet in his laced hands, and Vincent flung her back and up, into the air. As I slipped into food-processor mode with my sword, Aunt Rose flew a good thirty feet up, flipped in a long, slow layout— and landed on the head of a J'mastra demon, which looks a lot like a stegosaurus and an Alien from the long-running series of movies by that name had a kid and it grew up pissed. Aunt Rose landed on its head, drove her sword down into the thing's braincase, and leapt off as it crumpled, ending the most dangerous single-critter threat on the field.

Me, I just grinned at her showoff tactics and went back to fending off the pack of four werewolves that had me surrounded. My blade had been silver-plated, so I was able to put them down. Just as the last one fell with my sword sliding out of its throat, I heard "Jocelyn, dive left!" I didn't think, just followed Vi's shouted order, and a Kreplin demon— horrible things, they look like a man-sized spider monkey with Freddy-Krueger-claws and all their fur and skin burned off— passed through the space I'd been occupying a second before. As it braked to a halt, Vi swung a battle ax into the demon's gut, cut it very nearly in half and said, "You do _not_ mess with my girls' favorite babysitter!"

I laughed, flung a crazy-disc at a critter that had Shanna on the defensive (too many tentacles for anyone not fond of anime tentacle-rape movies [which, UGH!]), tossed a weighted wooden dagger into the heart of a vampire that had been trying to sneak up on Aunt Sh'rin, then leaped at a Hurkulpo demon (think "big purple ogre") that had been lumbering my way for a while now, tired of waiting for it.

Then the second, bigger wave of nasties hit, just as Buffy and the main battle group arrived, and things went totally chaotic. I killed the Hurkulpo, moved on to the next thing, killed an Australian crocodile-demon, beheaded three vampires that had ganged up on Vincent from behind (still reaching for that whole 'seven with one blow' thing, me!), dove past him so that he could take out another Kreplin that wanted to shish kebab me, found myself face to face with Piper (she'd come up with Buffy's group), went back-to-back with her and lost myself in killing demons while part of me watched little flickers of the battle around us.

Buffy, wielding the Scythe, split a Hurkulpo from groin to chin in one blow (making our men wince in involuntary sympathy) even as Xander, wielding a longsword, kept a pair of overlarge, steroid-freak vampires off of her back. Alina Sidorova and Rhonda McIntosh double-teaming a freaking shark-on-legs, complete with insect-like arms and pincers, keeping it busy long enough for Lydia to shove a saber into its brain. Daddy wading merrily through a bunch of vampire dust, made with one of his communion bombs, going to back up Aamira Nazari, who didn't seem to be letting the loss of vision in her left eye slow her down at all. Three younger Slayers whose names I couldn't remember doing this utterly cool tumbling-with-spears thing through the middle of the densest part of the melee, their passage leaving a lot of monsters freaked out, wounded— and easy pickings. Graham driving a halberd into the groin of a humanoid demon with bright blue, leathery skin, then flipping it over his head (muscles on his muscles, Graham) by the shaft, slamming it on the head of a tall, muscular werewolf that had been trying to get past Aunt Dawn's spinning sword to kill her. Aunt Dawn hacking the werewolf behind the knees, dropping it long enough for Graham to impale it with the apparently silvered blade of his halberd, then flinging a tiny little Bic lighter— covered with magic symbols— into the back ranks of a muddle of vampires that were surrounding Uncle Ballard. As the little lighter hit one vamp in the back, Aunt Dawn said, "H'ltok navar," and it exploded, splashing flames across all of the vamps and killing most of them. Uncle Ballard spun into the ginga at a speed that I've never seen matched by a non-Slayer, and the remaining three vampires fell to the ground, where he staked them with three stabs done as part of a single, elegant tumbling run— I felt jealous.

Then I heard Judith's voice in my headset, which almost surprised me into standing still for a second— but only almost.

"This is Judith Holmes, speaking from the command post on Giles's orders," Judith said, her voice calm and level. "Analysis of information garnered from pseudo dragon reconnaissance of the barn indicates that a magical trap has been laid on that building. When the first Slayer enters the barn, that trap will go off, summoning an unknown but very likely untenable number of demons to assault the barn.

"Giles is working with Willow to summon reinforcements. Until further notice, avoid the barn, as per Giles's orders.

"In the meantime, Jocelyn, Piper, there is a Kukastor— I do hope I'm pronouncing that right— demon approaching from Jocelyn's ten o'clock. Kukastor are capable of invisibility— but assistance in locating it is en route, simply be aware that it is approaching, about twenty paces off and moving slowly.

"Whitey, a communion bomb thrown past Buffy's position by about thirty feet would be very useful. Reinforcement and Ranged group, another group of demons is massing in the house, preparing for a charge, nearly ready, direct fire there on first breakthrough.

"Ballard, Dawn is in danger of attack from the rear, work that way."

Judith fell silent, then, having nothing else useful to say. Even as Daddy lobbed a powdered-communion-wafer-and-holy-water grenade over Buffy's head (pissing off a massive group of vampires— very briefly, before they died), I heard a familiar flapping-rustling noise, glanced up to see Phantom, Daddy's pale blue pseudo dragon, diving at a spot a ways from Piper and I and letting go of a bulging plastic bag that he carried in his claws.

The bag hit something, broke— and poured sticky mud all over the invisible Kukastor demon that had been trying to sneak up on us. It realized what had happened, threw back its elephant-like head, bellowed a challenge and charged us, all four arms wielding giant battle axes, moving with a surprising grace and speed for something nine feet tall and covered in muscle.

"See you next fall," I said to Piper, and she grinned, nodded to acknowledge my hastily-made plan, and set herself as I turned and charged the Kukastor.

It saw me coming and did the worst thing it could have done; it accelerated to meet me. I dove under the weapons it had going, curled into a ball, and somersaulted right into the thing's legs.

Even as I rolled up to my feet behind it and kicked the snot out of a Breckinth (built like a lion, but covered in alligator-like hide), Piper split the Kukastor's head with the battle axe she was using, killed it in a single blow. She then spun and covered a group of four werewolves in her webbing, pinned them down for Vi and Shanna to kill. Neat!

I heard the distinct "thrum" of a whole bunch of arrows being loosed, the whickering hiss as they flew through the air, and a lot of screams as they impacted on the horde of demons that had come out of the house, followed by the welcome "whump-WHAM!" of a grenade launcher sending demons back to their hellish homes.

"Reinforcements are arranged," Judith said in my ear. "Buffy, Giles suggests the north doors of the barn for entry, to allow the most room for the reinforcements to maneuver as they arrive."

"Understood, agreed," Buffy's voice said over the headsets. "All combatants, group for a mass push, form up behind me."

We moved as a group, killed what was close, then went to Buffy, formed up loosely behind her. Once we had all gotten to her, Buffy killed the Urtulal in front of her, looked around, saw no immediate threats, and called, "Let's go! Stay close!" before charging off toward the north doors of the trapped barn.

We arrived, and Buffy didn't play around— she motioned Rhonda McIntosh forward (Rhonda is one of the strongest Slayers around, since the power magnifies natural strength, and she's a big, muscular girl), and they each kicked one of the two big doors, sent them tumbling across the barn, knocked about thirty different demons of various sizes flying when the doors hit them.

"Avon calling," Buffy said, grinning at the shocked demons (trap or no, they hadn't expected _that_ entrance). "Can I interest you in our new line of skincare products? 'Cause, really, I don't mean to be rude, but you have some _serious_ skin problems, here!"

We charged— and a huge flash of dark blue light went off, a flash that filled the area all around the barn, and out from it by about a hundred feet.

When the light faded, there were demons and monsters everywhere around the barn, starting towards us even as we killed the remaining few demons inside.

"Wow, so _that's_ what 'untenable' means," Buffy muttered. "Bunches of lots, 'untenable,' check."

The monsters charged, we turned to meet them— and the doors at the south end of the barn vanished in a flash of fire. Slayers poured in from that direction, went around geeky little Andrew Wells, who still had his arms raised from the spell he'd cast to get rid of the doors.

"Just like we talked about, girls!" Andrew called as his group poured in. "Just like in 300— they've got numbers, we've got position!"

"Four in each doorway!" Jenny Carlotti called, swinging her double-bladed halberd (a foot-long blade at each end of a five foot staff) up to guard as Andrew and his group charged in, three other girls falling in beside Jenny. "When you tire, drop back, let another replace you, when rested, get in line to fight again!"

"Ranged weapons!" Buffy yelled as I fell into the line on our door, Buffy on my right, Rhonda on my left, "Spell casters! Pile up stuff to stand on in the center, shoot and cast over us!

"Xander! Take some girls, get the shelter open!"

"On it!" Xander replied.

Then they were on us, and we didn't waste breath on talking.

I fought for three minutes, then dropped out and let Aunt Elaine take my place, grinned as she muttered, "Tag me, tag me!" as she took my place.

I went and sat down on a bale of hay for a moment, listened to everyone around me talk or fight, then got up when I was breathing normally and went to find Xander and the team working on the shelter doors. Even as I pushed to the front of the group, Piper sat up from where she'd been leaning against the door, grinned, and threw the bank-vault-like wheel that dogged the shelter door shut into a spin, then hauled it open. (Brian had discovered that her incredible dexterity made her fingers so sensitive that she could feel tumblers fall in place in a lock with ease and taught her to crack safes and pick locks.)

Nine girls and an older man stood facing us, weapons at the ready— then sighed and relaxed when they realized who we were.

"We've got wounded!" said the man, stepping forward and taking Xander's hand. "A couple are pretty bad, and we don't have a trained healer— can you help?"

"We can help, Dave," Xander said, and I took a closer look, recognized the man as David Maxwell, a veterinarian and werewolf who'd been working at the school my whole life. He'd let his hair grow, added a beard, since I was here a couple of years before— looked nice, and pretty different. "I'll bet your veterinary training kept them alive, though."

"I hope so," Dave said.

"Vincent!" Xander called. "Got a couple patients for you, since we can't spare a Guardian right now!"

Vincent shouldered his way in, and I went with him to play nurse— four hands are better than two, after all. We found five girls in various states of "oh, shit that hurts," and he went to work on the worst one with the med kit Dave tossed him while I re-bandaged one whose bandages had soaked through. I lost myself in the work, helped Vincent when he called, went with him out to the barn when we finished in the shelter, and got back in line.

I got a second stint in the front line, though never a third— we finally put down all the nasties before that, and were able to breathe and tally up our losses.

Of the thirty-five girls, three Watchers and one Guardian stationed here, we'd lost twenty-one Slayers and all of the Watchers and the Guardian. Bad, bad karma— and much for Warren and his cronies to pay for, oh, yes.

Giles and the others arrived via Willow's telekinesis and Colin's flight, and I got hugged and kissed a lot before we started trying to clean up the mess, set things to rights enough that we could take care of our injured (another fifteen girls had been hurt in that long, defensive battle, but none horribly, thank the Powers), and try to figure out what was going on.

Buffy didn't like any of this, and she told Giles so right away.

"Giles, this was a feint or a trap, or— or something," Buffy said after she hugged him. "I'm not sure what Warren hoped to accomplish, but— well, is everyone all right at home?"

"They're quite well, though they aren't at home," Giles said. "We sent the remaining trainees and the children— all under Diane's care— off to Scotland to stay with Robson's group for a time, it seemed the prudent thing to do while Willow was opening gates."

"And Italy, probably not a good idea," Andrew said from one side, coming over and shaking Giles's hand, "since Warren wants me dead, too."

"You," Buffy said, rounding on Andrew and hugging him hard. "You were awesome, buster! You were a ton of help with the magics, Andrew, and I'm so impressed by your girls that it's— well, almost scary."

"Thanks, Buffy," Andrew said. He looked horribly sad for a moment, and added, "I just wish… I wish Jonathan could have seen it, you know? But I… he's probably not anywhere where they let you watch things here, not after what I did to him."

"Jonathan," Mi Kyong said from behind me, and we all turned at the speculative sound of her voice. "Jonathan… Andrew, was Jonathan a little man? Short, stout, a rather sad expression that never quite went away?"

"Yes, that was Jonathan," Andrew said, sounding worried and puzzled. "You… you haven't seen him, have you? I'd hate to think I damned him to be a demon or someth—"

"I saw him, yes, but in a Slayer dream," Mi Kyong said, stepping forward and taking one of Andrew's hands. "He was in my dream to _help_ us, Andrew— and he may yet, though I can't… quite recall that part yet.

"But he asked me to give you a message for him. He said to tell you that… that he 'did an Anakin,' though I don't know what that means. He seemed sure that you would, though."

"He… Jonathan did an Anakin," Andrew said, a big, geeky smile spreading over his face even as tears welled from his eyes. "Buffy, he did an Anakin! He turned back to the light! Jonathan's okay!

"Thank you, Mi Kyong!"

She laughed, hugged him, and wandered off to find something useful to do, smiling a satisfied little smile.

We cleaned things up— and just about sunup, we heard a roaring sound.

I was working at piling up robot parts for Colin to melt at the time— I hadn't even fought any, but maybe ten percent of the before-the-trap forces had been robots in several designs— when I heard it, and I glanced up to see a Warren-bot, with his original face even, landing in front of Buffy, shrugging off the jetpack he wore and starting towards her. I saw several people start towards them, intending to weigh in on Buffy's side, but she yelled, "This one's mine! Stay out of it!"

They met near the gates of the corral that had once held a lot of gorgeous, happy horses, stopped maybe ten feet apart, and Buffy said, "Well— what do you want?"

"Same thing I've wanted for the last sixteen years," Warren said. "I want to kill you. To show you that you can't screw with me.

"But mostly? I want to _hurt_ you!"

Warren's hands came up, blurred as they did so, and sort of… morphed. Where he'd had two human looking hands, he now had a short, heavy blade in place of his right hand, and a funny-looking, multi-barreled gun where his left had been.

Buffy dove sideways, but Warren hadn't been going to shoot her. Instead, his gun hand tracked on Joyce, standing maybe thirty feet from anyone else where she'd been picking up the parts of a broken robot.

Joyce saw it coming, and she did the right thing— she ran like hell, closed in _towards_ Warren as she did, forced him to turn with her to try and track her with his gun barrels, rather than just swinging his arm. That slowed him down, and it probably saved her life, considering how close the stream of tracers came to her.

Unfortunately for him, Warren sort of forgot something pretty important; Buffy.

She saw what he was doing, leaped back towards him and chopped off his gun arm with the Scythe. Warren spun to face her, a surprised look on his face— and Buffy spun, brought the Scythe up, around— and down. She split the Warren-bot completely in half (better than I'd done on the one I'd killed a couple-three hours before, I'd only gotten my blade down to belt level), and the halves fell in two different directions.

"You do not mess with my little girl!" Buffy snarled to the remains of the Warren-bot.

From the twin tangles of wires, metal, plastic, etc, came a slow, draggy voice that said, "Game… set… maaaaaaatch."

"Whatever," Buffy said— and went to grab and hug her daughter and her husband, who stood hugging tightly a little ways off.

We finished the clean up, Dave found everyone places to sleep— Giles didn't want to leave until we'd checked this place out with every resource we could bring to bear and figure out why they'd attacked here— and I dozed off about nine in the morning, puppy-piled in the hayloft with my lovers and Mi Kyong (a little lonely without Riley here) in a pile of hay.

When we woke up around one in the afternoon, Mi Kyong and Joyce had _lost the Slayer power_— as had every girl Called in the last five years, we rapidly found out.

It got worse from there.


	40. Shifting Power

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 40: Shifting Power

Ripley woke me, almost in a panic, saying in my head, _*Jocelyn! Jocelyn, wake up, wake up and say you still strong, say you still have Slayer power,_ please, _wake up still strong!_*

"Huh?" I said, sitting up and cradling my dear friend in my arms. "Ripley? Honey, what's wrong? Of course I'm still strong!"

_*Joyce lost Slayer power!*_ Ripley said in my head. _*All girls are losing it, losing it backwards, last Chosen first! Some have lost who Chosen five years ago, now!_*

"Holy shit!" I said. I looked over at Mi Kyong, who'd fallen asleep with her head on her "big brother" Colin's arm, was now sitting up and staring into Fog's eyes with a dismayed look on her face. "Are you—?"

Mi Kyong held her hand up to me, arm cocked as though to arm wrestle me without a table. I took her hand, gently, and Mi Kyong tried to move my arm.

I wasn't even really trying to resist— I was holding my arm still, sure, but I wasn't pushing back at _all_— and Mi Kyong couldn't move my arm at all. Not a fraction of an inch.

"Oh, Powers," Mi Kyong said in a low, frightened voice. "I… am not a Slayer, not anymore."

"You're a Slayer!" I said. "Mi Kyong, you don't have the power, maybe, but you're still a Slayer— you're still the person that the Scythe Chose to have the power, so power or no, you're a Slayer!"

"Jocelyn's right." Piper sat up and stretched, then reached over and squeezed Mi Kyong's shoulder. "The power isn't what makes a Slayer, it's the heart that makes that job a part of us— Buffy says that I'm a Slayer, and I don't have the Slayer power— and you, Mi Kyong, are still who you were when you had the power."

"I couldn't have said it better myself," Judith said, reaching over to squeeze Mi Kyong's hand.

"All right," Mi Kyong said, taking a deep breath. "Then let us see if we can't help the others figure out what's happening, as Slayers should."

"That's the little sister I know best," Colin said, grinning and standing up. "Let's go see."

We climbed down out of the loft— and into a mess.

A lot of girls were sitting around outside, looking lost, crying, freaking out. A lot more were working out, doing katas and forms, retaining what they could retain, trying to keep some edge.

Jenny Carlotti, another of the four of us born with the power, she was walking around to the girls who were freaking, talking to them, working at getting them to join those still working out. Major points for her.

We went to the house, met Xander just coming out to look for us. He saw us coming, looked at us, and said, "Jocelyn, you're still jazzed up?"

"I am," I said. I shook my head and said, "For the moment at least, but we need to figure out what's going on and stop it."

"Yeah, we do." Xander took a deep breath and looked at the other Slayer in our little group. "How are you doing, Mi Kyong?" Xander asked, hugging her.

"I am frightened," she said with complete honesty. "However, my adopted family has talked me out of panicking, at least."

"It wasn't that hard," Judith said, squeezing Mi Kyong's arm. "I didn't even have to join the argument— so she's doing quite well, I think."

"No argument from me," Xander said, and motioned us to follow him. "Colin, we need your zap, Piper, your spider powers, and we need all of your brains."

"What's going on?" I asked as we went in.

"We haven't got a clue," Xander said. "Which is why the brains are needed. The zap and the spider powers… Colin, Piper, we're reduced pretty sharply in numbers, right now. If something comes at us, we'll need you on the front lines."

"Okay," Piper said, nodding and trying not to look nervous. "I'm game. Can't be worse than fighting the Hulk solo." She reached up and absently scratched her pseudo dragon buddy's chin. "The not-dragon-Hulk, I mean."

"Fine by me," Colin said. He grimaced and added, "I understand why Buffy put me with the Watchers and non-combatants last night, and it was a good call— but I didn't like it."

"You'll get your chance to fight," Xander said. "At this point, I'm pretty sure we all will."

We followed him into the study, and saw everyone standing around the Scythe— which was floating in the air, maybe three feet off of the table where Buffy had, at some point, set it down. A glimmering, glowing, globular field of dark blue light had formed around it, seemed to be supporting it in mid air. You couldn't see it very well, thanks to the blue globe, but it looked… odd.

"Judas goat on a steam-powered pogo stick!" I said, staring in disbelief. "Catherine managed to do something to the _Scythe!?"_

"Looks that way, given the color of the magic," Buffy said from where she sat staring at it from a few feet off. "Don't try to touch it— that field's got some offense to it, not just defense. It knocked me out for about five minutes when I touched it."

"I don't have to touch it," Colin said. "Would you like me to try and blast through the field?"

After a moment's hesitation and a look at Aunt Dawn— who sat next to Buffy, holding her hand— Buffy nodded.

"Everyone stand back against the walls, please," Colin said, moving around to the end of the table where the Scythe floated. "If there's a big reaction, you're safest farther back."

We all backed away, and I found myself sandwiched between Daddy and Uncle Ballard, took Dad's hand for comfort— and Colin started pumping energy blasts into the force field around the Scythe.

Low-powered, at first (you can tell by brightness and the apparent solidity of the blasts), Colin fired a couple of energy bursts into the shield around the Scythe. No effect. The blasts didn't bounce of or make any visual or audible impact on the field at all.

"Okay, let's step it up a bit," Colin said, and blasted again. This time, we heard the air rushing away from his energy blast. Nothing. "That was about seventy-five percent of the concussion only blasts— enough to punch through a bulldozer from blade to exhaust pipe, and that's including the engine.

"So… let's see what happens at max power."

This time, we heard a sort of quiet boom as the energy of the blast hit the force field— but that's all.

"Those were pure concussion," Colin said. "Should I go for the burn-blast?"

"Do it," Aunt Dawn said when Buffy looked a question at her. "Do it, Colin— whatever's going on, it's hurting the pieces of the Guardians that they put in the Scythe, I can… can hear them _crying_.

"Do it. _Please!"_

Colin pointed both hands at the force field surrounding the Scythe, and energy poured off of his extended fingers, made a sharp, loud, hissing-crackling crackling noise as Colin fired. After a moment, we felt the heat radiating off of the globe— but it didn't seem harmed at all.

"I went straight to fifty percent of available power that time," Colin said when he stopped blasting. "Nothing. I'll let it cool for a minute, then go to full power."

No one said a word, we just waited. After the baking heat had fallen off— and that took less than thirty seconds— Colin said, "Here goes— cross your fingers."

He blasted, and I heard again that distinctive "ffffzzew" sound that I'd first heard in the Korean prison camp where Mi Kyong had spent five years of her life. Colin sustained it until the table below the force field started to smolder, then stopped, and said, "Dammit! It's like it's just… drinking it in. No effect at all, not that I can see."

"All right, brainstorming time," Daddy said. "Everyone, start tossing out ideas."

"Wait, please," Judith said. "What has already been tried, that we don't waste time with repetition?"

"I've hit it with every kind of energy I know how to call up," Willow said, her voice sounding weepy and scared. "It just… sits there. I've tried every kind of spell-banishing that I know, and no effect."

"Wil even bled for the cause," Xander said, pointing at a bandage on her thumb. "She thought that since Catherine made her blood the key to that freaky force field that Helena Parris's mom used at Alex's visitation— but no go. Then Buffy tried it, then they mixed it— still nothing."

"I've hit it physically with everything that I could throw at it," Buffy said. "Nothing."

"I can't see a weakness in the magic, even with the Guardian's Blade," Aunt Dawn said.

"All right, then," Judith said. "This is going to require deep thought. Does anyone smoke a pipe?"

We all stared at her a moment, then Xander said, "Pardon me, but… huh?"

Judith blushed darkly, but looked defiant when she said, "Surely you know enough about the mind to know that there are rituals that people have for clearing their minds and clarifying thought, Xander. For my father, it was to smoke a pipe— and I have a mental association with that, so I'm hoping it will help me, as well."

"Dave smokes a pipe on occasion," I said. "Or he did when I was here a couple of years ago."

"I'll go get him," Joyce Harris said, looking at her mom. "He's in the kitchen, or was a few minutes ago."

"Go on, honey," Buffy said.

Joyce came back with David Maxwell, who had a pipe and a pouch of tobacco in one hand, and promptly sat down and filled the pipe, lit up, and smoked.

Judith walked around the room, staring constantly at the globular force field, breathing deeply, and saying nothing, for almost two minutes. Then she spoke.

"I see no indication of rotation in any direction from the field— perhaps moving the table and trying assaults from below would be worthwhile," Judith said, her eyes still on the globe. "Water— if there is an electrical component to the field, that may interfere. If there is a flaw, we should be able to detect that flaw— flour spread on the globe might show us a weak point."

"Hey, has anyone looked at the thing through their night vision goggles?" Xander asked, and Judith nodded at him.

"An excellent idea," she agreed— then kept talking, spewing out ideas while Giles scribbled them down. "Also, since this is an energy construct, perhaps iron filings, if the flour shows us nothing.

"Buffy, when you threw things at the globe, did they seem to bounce more radically from any one point on it?"

"Not that I noticed," Buffy said, looking a little taken aback at Judith's sheer _intensity,_ and the rapidity with which she spat out things no one else had thought of.

"We'll have to experiment," Judith said. "Chemicals— acids, very likely no effect, and after Colin's treatment, I suspect heat will make no difference. However, there are literally hundreds of other chemical reactions to try. I'll look around in a bit, see what I can figure out from what's at hand. Is there a chemistry lab here?"

"Small one," Dave said, puffing on his pipe. "In the school building, about a half a mile south."

"I'll need to go there." Judith looked at the globe as though vexed with it for a moment, then said, "Sonics. Willow, did you try that?"

"No, I didn't think of that." Wil looked as surprised by Judith's stream of ideas as Buffy.

"Are there instruments to measure various outputs of energy in the school?" Judith asked. "A voltmeter, something for measuring the strength of magnetic fields. A Geiger counter, to see if there's any radiation from the globe."

"On it," Daddy said. "I'll take Dave there after you're through."

"Gravity… no method for measuring that, I suppose," Judith said. "Brian— someone find him, tell him you want him to analyze the globe in any way he can think of.

"Willow… I know absolutely nothing about magic. Are there methods of detecting what sort of magic Mrs. Madison used in the creation of the globe?"

"I've tossed off every detection spell I could think of, find, or make up," Willow said, sounding less amazed now that Judith was asking about things Wil was better at than anyone. "I can't find any indication of the magic she used at all."

"I see," Judith said. She frowned, walked around the table silently for a moment, then said, "The color. The same shade of blue created by the trap spell that Mrs. Madison set for you Slayers, etc, last night. That is the only thing that leads me to think this might be magical— and I know that light refraction can be set to virtually any shade scientifically. Willow, you can't detect any magic— so how certain are we that this is a magical construct?"

I remembered something then, and I said aloud, "Warren! When Buffy killed the— the _iteration_ of him this morning, it said, 'game, set, match'— like he'd won, and he knew it, like something had happened that he knew would screw us up!"

"Okay, you two are definitely a good team," Buffy said, nodding at us both. "Good job— but while that fits the facts, we aren't sure yet. Willow, can we get something to get your brain working like Judith's? Incense? Wildflowers? Pot?"

"Buffy!" Willow said in protest, blushing brightly. "I told you, that was necessary to slip into the dream-state, I don't smoke marijuana except as a part of rituals!"

"And that's why you had a gallon-sized Ziploc bag of it, huh?" Buffy said with a wicked grin. "Look, Wil, I really don't care, so long as you don't do it around the kids— but if it'll help now, I'll go to Hawaii and get you the best pot ever grown _myself,_ okay?"

"You can get better out of some hydroponics labs in Amsterdam," Willow said without thinking— then blushed more brightly still. "But that won't help. What I need now is to just… follow Judith down the path she's on.

"Judith… come talk to me a little? I need… I used to be a science geek, okay? And I need to resurrect that part of me, set it thinking about magic like you just were about everything else. So… talk to me? Tell me what it's like, remind me of how you go from step to step like that.

"Dawnie, you, too. And Sh'rin. Between you three, maybe we can get my brain engaged before I strip the mental clutch."

The four of them left the room, and the rest of us brainstormed for a minute— then Shanna Red Leaf let out a sound like a gasp-moan, and slumped against the wall.

"I think," she said as Giles went to her, "that you'll find that those of us who've been Slayers for six years are without our powers, now."

"Shit," Buffy said, punching a wall hard enough to leave a hole. "It's accelerating, I think. Giles?"

"It seems so, yes," he admitted. He let go of Shanna's wrist (he'd taken it to take her pulse) and added, "However, we will at least have you and Faith, at the end of things, since your power does not come from the Scythe, but from the original… darker source called upon by the first Watchers."

"We're good, both of us," Buffy said. "But Giles… I don't think we're that good."

"You always have been in the past," Giles said. "And by that I mean you _alone,_ Buffy. I have no small amount of confidence in you, and when we add Faith to the equation… my confidence only goes up."

"Thanks, Giles," Buffy said, and gave him a smile. "Best Watcher ever. Still."

"I've had to be," Giles said, and gave her a smile of his own. "How else to keep up with you?"

We sat and stared at the force field globe, and I racked my brains, trying to come up with something else, and got nowhere.

A little before two, Giles got reports from several points around the world that Slayers who'd gotten their power, who'd been Called, seven years ago last May, had lost their power.

At two straight up, Buffy, who'd been pacing around the force field globe and staring at it like it was a vampire she really wanted to stake, suddenly froze in place… and something black, black and inky-looking, started to ooze out of her and drift up through the ceiling.

_Interlude: Catherine Madison's workshop, Bloomington, Illinois_

Catherine stepped into the power circle she'd drawn as Warren, standing by the huge, sturdy door to her work area (a door he'd built and installed, like he'd built this place for her to work in, safe from prying eyes and interference), watched with interest and a dark sort of glee.

"At this, the breaking of the fifteenth hour of the Autumnal Equinox," Catherine intoned, her voice loud to sound over the noise of the drum machine that was producing a loud, steady, primitive beat for her, "I do call on the balance of the night and day, ask that the power of this balance point in the heavens grant me the ability to banish the power of my enemy!"

The circle around Catherine started glowing, light up with a dim gray light that ran inward to the center of her circle, surrounded her in a cocoon of gray energy.

"Let the power of my enemy be released!" Catherine called as wind from nowhere whipped her hair around, tugged at her blouse and slacks. "Let it go to the next in line for its gift!

"Grant the power on another, when the time is right— as the First Watchers intended!"

The gray light shot away from Catherine, up through the ceiling, and off through the sky.

"It's done," she panted. "Buffy Summers— Buffy Harris, whatever— is just a woman, now. When Drusilla touches Faith with the crystal I gave her, it will be the same for her."

"So the Slayer power's gone?" Warren said, sounding delighted.

"Not gone, Warren," Catherine said. "I told you— I'm not _that_ powerful. But it will move on, target another girl, very probably a very young one, since the Scythe has been activating them all every May.

"Some young, untrained girl will be the next original-line Slayer— and that's not likely to put a kink in our plans, now is it?"

"Good enough," Warren said. "Gone as far as Team Slayer's concerned, that's enough.

"Okay— I'm up on Asimov Station, now, and the rest of me are at the other location for the emergency play. With all the Slayers pulling back to their bases because of power-loss, it's even safe for me to go there— no guards."

"All right," Catherine said. "I'll start the final spell at sunset— then it all comes together."

Warren nodded and laughed, and Catherine started clearing off this spell circle and setting up the one for her _coup de grace_.

_Montana: Jocelyn_

After a moment, the black stuff disappeared entirely from Buffy, oozed up through the ceiling— and Buffy staggered, nearly fell, but caught herself on Xander's arms as he darted over to catch her.

"Oh, shit," Buffy said. "Giles? We have a problem, I think."

"Dear lord," Giles said in a low, horrified voice. "Buffy was that—"

"The Slayer power, yeah," Buffy said. "I feel… ugh. That was the power, all right."

"But— that's not bloody possible!" Giles said, standing and moving to take Buffy's pulse. "Are you quite sure that you've lost the power?"

"I'm sure," Buffy said— and when Giles dropped her wrist, she hauled off and punched him in the arm.

"Ow!" Giles said. "Buffy, what on earth— oh, damn." His eyes lit up with understanding and fear. "Was that… as hard as you could hit me?"

"Afraid so," Buffy said. "Didn't even knock you back a step.

"Seems I'm just a girl again."

"Hardly," I said. Buffy looked at me and I said, "Buffy, you're still the most experienced hunter of supernatural critters on the face of the Earth. You're still the Prime— and I'll still go where you lead and do what you say."

"Thanks, Jocelyn," Buffy said. She looked at the Scythe in its globular force field and said, "That couldn't have been about this, I have the original power, and… shit, someone call Faith, _right now!"_

Giles went pale and whipped out his cell phone, pressed a few buttons and put it to his ear. After a moment, he hung up, dialed again, and let it ring for a while.

"I'm afraid there's no answer," he said— and we all heard the fear in his voice.

_Interlude: The Hyperion Hotel, home of Angel and Faith Kilpatrick, Los Angeles, California_

"All right, Gunn, let me know if anything else happens," Angel said, and hung up the phone. He looked at his wife and said, "At least you're immune to whatever the hell's going on, Faith. That's something."

"Yeah, but it ain't gonna help the girls in the field that can't get out of bad spots before their Calling hangs up on 'em, y'know?" Faith said, pacing the floor like a caged lioness. "Dammit, Angel, I should be out there, okay? Not in here waitin' for— what-the-hell-ever."

"You heard Giles this morning, honey," Angel said, grabbing her hand as she paced past him. "Until we have some idea of what's going on, you and Buffy are the only hope we've got— we can't risk you two."

"Just like old times," Faith muttered. Then she leaned her head against Angel's chest and said, "Those weren't exactly _good_ times, y'know? I could do without the reminder."

"So?" Angel said, looking at the doorway to the office. "How about a different sort of reminder?

"Come here, kiddo, your mom needs a hug."

Helena Kilpatrick ran across the floor, monkeyed her way up into her mother's arms, hugged with all her might, and said, "It's gonna be okay, Mommy. Giles knows everything, he'll make the bad stuff stop."

"I hope you're right, Helena," Faith said. "In the meantime, your Uncle Wes and Aunt Fred are comin' over— Aunt Fred said she might have ideas about how to help and wanted to talk them over with Uncle Wes and Daddy and me before she called Giles. So why don't you go and wait at the door for them, a—"

"Oh, don't send the child away," said a soft, crooning voice from behind the family. "I haven't had the pleasure, yet."

Angel spun even as Faith handed Helena to him, stepped around him and put herself between the intruder and their child.

"Hello, Angel," Drusilla said from the doorway to the office, shaking her head to exhibit her now-blond hair. "Do you like my new look?"

"How the _hell_ did you get in here, bitch?" Faith snarled, moving towards Dru even as she drew a stake from her hip pocket.

"Through the sewers, of course," Drusilla said, setting herself in a combat stance and simply waiting. "You never did block your old entrances, Angel, after you became human again. I suspect you're regretting that, now?"

"Not half as much as you will, skank," Faith said— and leapt.

Drusilla had always had the instinctive knowledge of fighting that came from the demon that animated her, but it had once been filtered and diluted by the madness of the human mind that demon resided in. Since being cured by Warren, she had been re-training herself to fight, even taken a couple of years worth of lessons in the martial arts to add to the demon's already formidable skills. She met Faith head-on, blocked the Slayer's first several strikes— then struck herself, swung an open hand across Faith's face with a loud "crack."

Faith staggered back, confused by a sudden weakness— and fell to the floor as something black and inky poured out of her and into the orange-glowing crystal pendant that dangled from the hand Drusilla had struck her with. As the blackness poured in, the crystal turned red.

"That's so much better," Drusilla said. "I think I might have taken you before, you know— but now there's nothing to stop me at all." She dropped the crystal to the floor and stomped on it.

The darkness that had come from Faith and Buffy oozed out, overwhelmed the red glow of the crystal shards that remained— and vanished with a barely-audible whistling noise.

"Now," Drusilla said, her voice soft and menacing, "I have to ask; Angel, do you remember all the tortures that you inflicted on me before you drained me and made me a vampire? The way you killed my entire family in front of me? Then killed every nun at the convent I fled to? Do you remember?

"I do. Oh, I remember it all, Angel— and I'm going to recreate every bit of it for your little girl— before I sire her as you did me!"

"The hell you say!" Faith said, getting to her feet. "It's daylight out, you useless bitch!

"Angel, go! Get Helena outside, I'll hold her off! GO!"

"I've a better idea," said a firm, British-accented voice from behind Angel. "Stay and enjoy the show, Angel."

Before Drusilla could do more than look up to the source of the voice, there came a sharp "tung"— and a wooden crossbow bolt entered Drusilla's chest.

"Not fair!" Drusilla wailed, staring at Wesley Wyndham-Pryce and the crossbow he held casually in his arms. Before she dusted, she managed to cry, "Not fair at all!"

For a moment, no one moved— then Faith leaped to hug Angel and their little girl long and hard before turning and grabbing Wesley in a similar hug, while his wife Fred went to hug Angel and Helena.

"Damn, Wes, you couldn't have timed that any better," Faith said. She then looked down at herself and said, "Well, maybe you could have— you could've got here before she drained the Slayer power out of me."

"She what!?" Wesley said. "But— your power and Buffy's, they didn't come from the Scythe, how—?"

"Don't know," Faith said, stepping back to take Helena from Angel. "But she did. Still… don't matter. I still got my guy and our girl."

"At least for the moment, yeah," said another voice from behind Wesley. "You Team Slayer types, you really shouldn't forget me."

A figure appeared behind Wesley, slammed a punch into the Watcher's chest as he turned, sent him flying back into Angel.

"Hi there," Warren-bot said as he stepped into the office. "My name's Warren, and I'll be your executioner today.

"You really shouldn't have killed my partner. I'm not all sentimental or anything , but damn, she was useful!"

"Oh, for gosh sakes!" Winifred Wyndham-Pryce said, stepping forward as she rooted through her over-sized purse. "I swear, you really tick me off, Mr. Robotto! That's my husband you just decked, you know!"

"Oh, well, color me terrified!" Warren-bot said, snickering (almost giggling) as he stepped towards Fred. "What do you think you're going to do to me, you useless bag of protoplasm?"

"This," Fred said calmly as she dropped her purse, revealing a modern-day police baton, complete with the contact rods that made it a contact taser— though the rods had obviously been modified or replaced, as they were about three inches long and barbed.

"And what do you think that's gonna do to me?" Warren-bot asked. "I'm insulated against outside shocks, hello?"

"Oh, well, that shoots down that plan, I guess," Fred said, looking downcast. Then she shoved the barbed points into Warren-bot's stomach, stepped aside, and pressed the button on the stick's handle. "Or maybe not!"

Wires shot from the butt of the night stick, flew across the room, and impacted on the metal elevator doors that Fred had lined them up with. Immediately, sparks and smoke shot from the Warren-bot, the wires, and the elevator doors, and all the electric lights went out. After a long, long moment… the Warren-bot fell over on his face, his synthetic flesh burning merrily and setting his clothes on fire.

"That's our Fred!" Angel said, grinning and helping Wesley to his feet. "Wes, you married the right woman!"

"Oh, I knew that already," Wesley said, grabbing Fred and kissing her. "However, it is nice to have vindication."

"What'd you do to him, Fred?" Faith asked, looking at the smoking remains of the Warren-bot in the sunlight coming in the lobby windows.

"Oh, just somethin' I came up with when he started monkeyin' around with Team Slayer," Fred said, grinning and ducking her head a little. "Just perfected it last night, hadn't even tested it. It didn't shock him, I figured he'd be ready for that. Instead it drained all his power out in one catastrophic dump.

"I probably fried all your wiring, Angel, I'm sorry."

"Sorry!?" Faith and Angel said in chorus. Angel went on, "Fred, you saved our lives, and you want to say you're sorry? Are you nuts?"

"No, I guess not," Fred said, smiling as Faith set Helena down and the girl ran to hug her. "Hey, sugar— you okay?"

"I'm fine," Helena said, and kissed Fred's cheek. "Thanks to you an' Uncle Wes, we're all fine.

"I love you guys bunches!"

The five of them left, headed for the LA home of Fred and Wesley, just in case another Warren-bot showed up here. As they left, Wesley produced a cell phone and called Giles.

_Montana: Jocelyn_

We went on with what we were doing while Giles continued to try and reach Angel and Faith. What else could we do? It wasn't like we didn't still need to figure out how to get at the Scythe.

We'd tried the easiest and quickest of Judith's ideas (with no results at all), taken maybe ten minutes to do so, when Giles's cell phone rang as he hung up from trying the LA headquarters of Team Slayer again.

"Wesley," Giles said, "Thank heavens! You need to— what? Repeat that, please, this connection is terrible."

For a moment, Giles said nothing, then he sighed and said, "All right. Yes, that's probably best. Thank Fred for me— for all of us— please. Yes, I'll call when we know more."

He hung up, looked around at us, and said, "Angel, Faith and Helena are all right— but Drusilla and Warren attacked them, and Drusilla managed to drain Faith's Slayer power as well before Wesley killed Drusilla and Fred killed the Warren that came with her."

"Crap," Buffy said. "No Faith, either. We're in trouble."

"On the plus side," Xander said, smiling just a little, "Warren's got no more possibility of visions to help him, at least."

"Fred killed the Warren-bot that came after them?" Dad said, smirking a little. "How'd she manage that?"

"She created a weapon that let her drain all of the power out of his system," Giles said, smirking a little himself. "I imagine that came as a surprise to him.

"All right— let us return to our efforts to discover how to break this construct."

We thought, we bounced ideas off of each other, we tried things, and Giles took several calls (muttering under his breath about the lousy cell reception all the time), but stayed quiet.

About three, Judith and the others came back in, and Wil said, "Any luck?"

"Nothing, I'm afraid," Giles said. "But… it's accelerating further. All but the first generation of Slayers, those activated on the original use of the Scythe, have lost their powers."

"Damnation, but I hate feeling helpless!" Judith said, and slammed her closed hand on the table the Scythe and its force field bubble sat on.

The table _broke_. The piece from the leg to the outside edge of the table just… snapped off, like it was cheap glass and Judith's fist had been a hammer wielded by Vincent.

"What the bloody hell!?" Judith said, staring at her fist.

Buffy laughed aloud, jumped up and said, "Oh, hell, yes!

"Judith, you're a _Slayer!"_

"But— but how can that be?" Judith asked, looking as shocked as she had the day she'd arrived on our Earth. "The Scythe—"

"You're an _original line_ Slayer!" Buffy said. "Someone— probably Catherine— figured out how to get the original, Watcher-called Slayer power out of me and Faith, and it went to you, Judith!"

Judith stared at her fist for a moment, then looked at Buffy and nodded.

"Yes, all right," she said. "I understand. I'm quite amazed, but I understand."

"Welcome to Team Slayer, Holmes," I said, and hugged her.

She let go, I stepped back—

— and I felt a sudden draining sensation, felt my muscles all start protesting hurts that I hadn't noticed before, felt myself become, for the first time in my life…

. . . _just a normal girl_.

"Oh, shit," I said— and dropped into the closest chair.


	41. Pawn to Queen's Knight Eight

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 41: Pawn to Queen's Knight Eight

I sat and I felt sore and I realized just exactly how tough our Watchers and Guardians were, how _strong_ they were, if this was how they felt after a hard mission and they kept going anyway.

_Normal,_ I thought. _I'm… normal. Ordinary. Just a girl. Still a Slayer, yes, I meant that when I said it to Mi Kyong, but not a super-powered girl anymore. _

_Or… am I a Slayer? Was it a mistake? Is this just… a correction, for me?_

_Oh, damn_.

"First generation of Scythe-Called Slayers are now sans power," I said aloud. "Or at least I am."

Aunt Rose came into the room about then, said, "Giles— it's happened. We're normal, we first-Called girls. All of us here, me, Elaine, Chantelle… de-powered."

"So Jocelyn has informed us," Giles said— and Aunt Rose came straight to me and hugged me.

"It has to be harder for you, sweetie," Aunt Rose said against my ear. "You've never been anything but a Slayer, so being without that power, it must really suck— I'm sorry, Jocelyn."

"Thanks, Aunt Rose," I said just as quietly. Then I sat back and said louder, "You're right. This sucks. I hate it. I've never been normal before.

"But that means I've got to fight all the harder— and I'm game. We should probably start with breaking the force field around the damned Scythe, so maybe some people can get their power back."

Daddy came over, tugging Mom by the hand— and they both hugged the stuffing out of me.

"Jocelyn, that you're capable of thinking like that right now…." Daddy squeezed me extra hard for a second. "Thanks, honey."

"It's okay," I said. "It's not that big a deal."

"Ain't so," Mom said, and kissed both my cheeks. "We all got memories of bein' normal, honey, an' you don't— but you ain't freakin' at all."

"The hell you say!" I said, returning the kisses and adding a kiss for Daddy. "I'm freaking out all loud and violent in my head— but I'm _using_ it. It's that or humiliate myself by dissolving into Weeping-Wailing Lass, and that would upset Ripley, so I won't do it."

"Good call," Daddy said, and hugged me again. Then he looked around the room and said, "She's right. We have to figure out what's happening to the Scythe, and we have to do it fast. Brian should be here in a minute, he's raiding the science labs for instruments— good call, Judith— and stuff to help him patch them into his computers."

I sat and I thought and I snuggled with my folks for the few minutes that it took Brian to arrive. While I sat there, Giles told us all about the attack on Angel, Faith and Helena, how Wesley had dusted Drusilla— YAY!— and Fred had managed to suck all the energy out of a Warren-bot. I actually giggled at the thought of small, frail-looking, painfully cute Winifred Wyndham-Pryce sucking the energy out of a Warren-bot, and giggles were in short supply just then.

Brian got there finally, pushing a wheelbarrow full of scientific instruments in front of him and looking worried.

"Got everything I could find, even scavenged some stuff— Dave, I tore out the burglar alarm sensors on the school, you might want to get them replaced later." Brian shook his head. "What I wouldn't give to be within a loud shout of Asimov Station and the equipment in their labs.

"Still… I may find something out. Let's find out."

Brian went to work, muttering to himself as he went, then muttering to Judith as she went to help as best she could, and asked about what he was doing. Daddy got up to talk to Giles, and Piper came over and snuggled up against me in his place.

I actually dozed. The loss of the Slayer power, after the exertions of the night before, that had me wiped out— and I dozed off.

I woke up when Brian said sharply, "Hello! I've got something!"

We all sat up straight and looked at him hopefully.

"What is it, Brian?" Giles asked.

"Motion, lots of motion," Brian said. "I patched the motion sensors from the burglar alarm into some other gizmos, and I've got motion all over the Scythe— like a moving skin, almost. Let me see… okay, Judith, give me those night-vision goggles there, and the microscope. Soldering iron, please… and the spectroscope, hello, baby, why didn't I think of you before.

"Okay, let's see… time to see if I can't do my Wesley Crusher impersonation. Take several random bits of technology, cobble them into what you need right this moment…. Wire cutters, please… thanks. And the soldering iron again… now, pull the cord out of that mouse, please…. Oh— wipe the horrified look, Judith, I mean the oval thing there that you see hooked up to computers. Thanks. And— oh, you're swift all right, soldering iron is just what I wanted."

For a couple of minutes or so, Brian kept on working, singing a little nonsense song softly to himself.

"Oh the spectroscope connects to the… goggles, the goggles connect to the… microscope. The microscope connects to the… motion sensor. The motion sensor connects to the… USB cord. The USB cord connects to the… laptop… the laptop waits for the… code-fiend."

Brian connected everything together into a trash-tech machine worthy of the comic-book super-villain of your choice, then patched everything to the laptop via the cord he'd had Judith pull from the spare computer mouse, then sat down at the laptop and started typing like mad.

"Don't argue with me, you worthless collection of code," he muttered after a moment. "I wrote your progenitor, you know! Ah, that's better… now, let's see what we can do to make a video-watching program capable of dealing with my new toy. We'll need focus control… and the ability to shift the observed spectrum… and zoom, much zoom. Hmm… add a little bit of Q-code to the volume controls, that should— ah! Houston, we have zoom control!

"Okey-dokey, let us see how I have wrought!"

He pressed several keys, and his contraption swung around and aimed itself at the globe more fully. An image appeared on the screen, a lot of blue, and Brian fiddled with the laptop for a moment, muttering "No, not the ordinarily visible spectrum, you silly machine— we're making the not-visible visible, don't you understand simple Q-code? And… jackpot!

"Oh— also 'oh, shit, he's smarter than I thought,' and 'this could be bad.' "

We all crowded around to see what Brian was trying to show us, and saw the Scythe… sort of _rippling_. It looked like it had some thick, heavy liquid over it in a thin coating, and the liquid was moving like a fairly calm sea, rippling softly. Through the coating, whatever it was, we could see that the Scythe looked… kind of like it had crystallized, or at least like the metal parts had. The leather wrapping on the handle looked normal, as did the stake at the butt of the handle, but all the metal look like it had turned to glass and that glass had been fractured all over.

"What the devil is that… that coating over the scythe?" Giles asked.

"Nanobots," Brian said, sounding depressed. "Microscopic robots, Giles, millions and millions of them. They're capable of performing operations on a molecular scale, even an atomic scale, moving atoms of things around, even changing the atoms. They're changing the material of the Scythe, and whatever they're changing it into can't hold the magics of the Guardians, can't generate the power it gives the Slayers.

"They must have been secreted in the Warren-bot you killed this morning, Buffy, and they jumped to the Scythe when you hit him with it."

"Can we stop them?" Giles asked.

"I can't see how," Brian said, his voice low and miserable. "Some of them are generating that force field, and I can't even identify the energy that makes up the field. Warren may have discovered a whole new spectrum, or even more than one spectra, and the energy… I can't even tell it's _there,_ past the visual component."

"Damnation!" Giles said. "We've hit that field with every kind of energy we could, and that's including what Willow can generate, so includes virtually every type of energy there is."

"I'll keep working," Brian said. "I'll keep trying, Giles. Maybe… maybe if I can figure out a way to send programming info to the nanobots…."

Something tickled my brain, but it wouldn't quite come to the front. I thought I had something, but I couldn't tell what it was, and I didn't have time to just let it come— none of us had that kind of time.

"Ripley, honey?" I said to my pseudo dragon friend. "Sweetie, can you help me out?"

*_I help— you tell how, I help,*_ Ripley said, moving from my shoulder to my hands when I held them up for her.

"Honey, I think I may be trying to have an idea about how to get that force field down," I said, so quietly that only Ripley would hear. "Thing is, I'm tense, hurt, scared and upset. I need to calm down, and I can't focus even on simple meditation techniques right now. Can you help me calm down? Please, sweetie?"

_*I do,*_ Ripley said, and sat on my hands with her tail curled around her feet and her brass-colored eyes locked on mine. _*I do easy. We make it right. I make you calm, you fix stupid machine-guy so this thing he made not work._*

I looked into my best friend's eyes, and she started singing as her people do, a bubbling, whistling little tune that sounds like birds singing under water. Even as she did that, her mind slipped into mine, found all my amped-up emotions and damped them down, like control rods in a nuclear pile. I felt calm coming, let it come, didn't try to help it, just let it come. Ripley's little song grew softer, and I felt my eyes getting heavy. They closed— and I saw a vision of Fred Wyndham-Pryce shoving a nightstick into a Warren-bot's gut, wires shooting out of the other end of the stick and hitting an elevator, and sparks and smoke and flames shooting everywhere. I felt-more-than-heard Ripley tell me that this was what Jet, Angel's pseudo dragon friend, had seen when Fred killed the Warren-bot that had threatened the LA group, and that this was what I was trying to think about.

I opened my eyes and Ripley stood up, leaned forward and nuzzled my lips, a pseudo dragon kiss.

_*You do!*_ Ripley said, joy setting her whole body rippling. _*I help, you do! You tell! Tell now!_*

"May not work," I said.

_*Feels right!*_ Ripley said. *_Not tried, you tell!_*

I set Ripley back up on my shoulder and stood. "Guys?" I said. "I have an idea. I almost didn't grab it, but Ripley, she was able to calm me down."

"What is it, Jocelyn?" Giles asked.

"We've hit that damned bubble with everything, up to and including things that science won't even admit exists, and it doesn't notice," I said, trying not to get my hopes too high. "But has anyone tried sucking the energy _out?_ Draining the field?"

For a moment, no one said a word— then Willow said, "Holy shit! Dawn, Sh'rin, come over here— we need to work this out together.

"Jocelyn, we haven't tried that at all— and it may work!"

Mi Kyong sat bolt upright, pointed at me and cried, "The answer SUCKS! That's what he said before he asked me to give a message to Andrew, Jonathan said… wait, wait, let me get it all!"

Mi Kyong sat with her eyes closed for a moment, and I could see in Fog's posture where she sat on Mi Kyong's shoulder that she was helping, working at getting the memory out for her.

"In my Slayer dream, Jonathan was sitting at a table, and the Scythe lay on the table. He pointed at it and said, 'it's supposed to be forever. I mean— the Guardians, they made it to be forever, to always empower and protect. Thing is, they couldn't plan for everything— nobody can. Warren, he's gonna try to break it. He may do it. If he breaks it, it's all over. So you make sure that Jocelyn accepts the dark, because if she doesn't, her pain will blind her. She can see the answer— if she's not too hurt. If she doesn't accept the dark, she won't see. She has to have the dark to see the light.

" 'Remember that. And remember that the answer sucks.'

" 'The answer _sucks!'_ That has to mean that this is the right answer, the right way!"

I sat and stared at her and realized just how powerful a Slayer dream could be. The Powers had known that I'd be hurting and scared from losing my power, had known that if I refused to accept dark-red Ripley's offer of love and friendship in the wake of Royal's death, I'd never see the answer to Warren's attack on the Scythe… wow. One thing to read about that sort of thing in Aunt Rose's book, another to experience it in secondhand-person.

I got hugged and kissed and congratulated by damn near the whole room while Wil, Aunt Dawn and Aunt Sh'rin worked on the spell to suck the energy out of the force field.

"What about the nanobots themselves?" Xander asked. "If even one survives, can't this happen again?"

"Leave that to me," Colin said. "I already know how to make sure they all die. But I need it wrapped in a safe force field to make sure that none of the nanobots escape."

"What are you—" Xander started.

"No time," Wil said, coming out of her huddle. "We'll put it in a safe field, Colin, but Dawn and Sh'rin agree, the essence of the Guardians can't survive a lot longer. Xander, I trust Colin— and we need him now.

"Colin, you wield energies not normally a part of this universe— so we'd like to use you as a template, sort of— and a conduit. We'll take all the energy out of that force field and dump it into you. Won't hurt you, we'll protect you, and it may even charge you up some."

"Let's do it," Colin said. He squeezed my hand and Piper's hand, then went to float over the middle of the force field bubble when Willow told him to.

A moment later, Aunt Dawn, Aunt Sh'rin and Will sat in a triangle around the globe, and Willow moved the table aside with her telekinesis. As soon as she'd done that, Aunt Dawn unsheathed the Guardian's Blade and slid it to lay under the force field bubble— and they all three started chanting while Aunt Sh'rin drummed a beat on the floor beside her legs to keep them on tempo.

They chanted, all three in a round robin that became a single chant, and something started to happen. A tendril of blue light drifted up from the force field, turned gold-white, and joined the glow that surrounded Colin— and that glow got a little brighter.

Then the process accelerated, and the blue of the force field around the Scythe got dimmer and dimmer while Colin's glow got brighter and brighter—

— and the force field winked out. The Scythe dropped a couple of inches before Willow caught it telekinetically and a Scythe-tight, soft golden light surrounded it.

"Force field in place, do what you're gonna!" Willow said.

Colin dropped to the floor, snatched the Scythe out of the air and flew out of an open window in a rush of air. Less than a second later, we heard the sonic boom of Colin's acceleration.

Almost ten minutes crawled by, managed to feel like ten days, before we heard another boom— and a moment later, Colin climbed back in the window and said, "It's clean— they're all dead, you can de-force-field it and I'll incinerate the remains of the nanobots."

Willow lowered the force field she'd put around the Scythe but held it in mid air. What looked a lot like a pound or so of tiny iron filings fell towards the floor, but never made it. Colin burned them as they fell.

"What did you do to kill the nanobots?" Xander asked.

"I went home," Colin said, grinning. "I took the Scythe to Scooby Mansion, and the enchantment the triple threat put up to destroy all Warren-made tech annihilated the nanobots completely."

"Dear lord, that's a brilliant solution!" Giles said. "Thank you, Colin— once again, you have more than earned your place with us."

"The Guardians?" Buffy asked, her voice tense.

_~We… survive,~_ said that soul-touching voice that most of us had heard before— and we all sagged in relief. _~We are weakened, and will take time to recover— but we survive._

_~Thank you, all of you, for preserving us and our magics. It will be some time before we can re-empower all the Slayers we have Chosen down the years, perhaps a week… but it will be done. For now… we must rest, renew this our home, repair it that it may withstand the energies we grant the Slayers._

_~Yet… there is need of what power we can manifest, and the need is urgent. We will rest for a short while… then empower those we can. Not many— but perhaps enough to end the threat that comes._

_~While we rest… summon all those of your family who were present when first our daughter Sh'rin came through to this now. Bring those not here to this place in… two hours. And all in this room who have had the Slayer power, bring them as well. All. No exceptions. All._

_~We are diminished… but still we can see, we can Call… and we will choose most carefully those we Call, choose only the best, for you will need the very best of the Chosen to do what needs be done… and even then, we will have to ask for help from he who has already helped us once. Starpulse… we will need you.~_

"Then you'll have me," Colin said. He smiled a cold, hard smile and said, "I want a piece of Warren anyway."

_~It is well,~_ the Scythe said. _~Also, Spider-woman… the Prime spoke rightly when she told you that you are a Slayer at heart. Had you no power of your own, you would be Chosen next summer-eve, but you have the power you need— and your skill with that power is more than sufficient. We will ask your help, as well.~_

"You've got it." Piper smiled a little and said, "Probably a good thing you don't need to give me power— I used to be a boy."

_~You are a woman, now,~ _the Scythe said calmly_. ~You have accepted that, and become a woman in heart and head, as well as body. Had you need of the power we could grant, we would give it, and never mind what once you were. What you _are_… is a woman.~_

Piper looked kind of stunned, but she nodded and said in a very small voice, "Thank you."

_~As the Father has been known to say, there is no need to thank us for telling you what you have earned the right to hear.~ _The voice sounded amused while it said that, but sobered as it went on, ~_We rest now. Bring she who was there when Sh'rin came through. When we are rested… we will summon you_.~

The voice fell silent— and Aunt Dawn and Aunt Sh'rin both burst into tears of sheer, blind relief.

Willow hugged them both, then said, "Giles, call LA— we need Faith here, they want her here. And Rose, find Elaine, she'll need to be here, too."

People started bustling, and I took my leave, went outside with my lovers, and we sat under a tree and snuggled. I fell asleep, big surprise.

When I woke, Uncle Ethan had finally arrived to join us, as my psychic little sister had said he should— he'd been out of our dimension, in the realms of the Fey, trying to make peace between two factions, guiding a team of Slayers in helping prevent more bloodshed while he worked, and only just gotten back— and people were freaking because Brian had found out what Warren and Catherine were going to try to do, at least in the rough.

Brian had found an undamaged robot head in the rubble gathered by the Slayers, or mostly undamaged, and managed to access some of its memory. What he found… horrified.

Warren intended to bomb Normal somehow, to focus on Scooby Mansion and the Seat of the Watchers' Council, but whatever it was he intended to do— we didn't know for sure, not yet— would do monstrous damage to a huge area around there, kill thousands, maybe millions of people. Unfortunately, we had no specifics, but Brian was still trying.

As for Catherine… Belinda, in a vision from the Powers, had said that Catherine would 'repeat another's mistake'— and she wasn't kidding. Catherine Madison intended to perform the ritual her daughter had been attempting just before she died; the Ritual of the Gaping Way. She was going to open another Hellmouth, in Bloomington. Thing is, a second Hellmouth too close to another— closer than two thousand miles or so— causes all sort of horrible dimensional foul-ups. If she did it, either Hellmouths would open up all over the world, spaced every two-to-four hundred miles or so, or one GIGANTIC Hellmouth would open that covered the whole space between Bloomington and Cleveland, where the next closest one lay. If _that_ happened, the hole would be big enough for the Elder Demons, the ones who'd ruled our dimension for millennia, would be able to return to Earth— and we'd all die under their most casual attacks.

We knew all this was true, too— because Belinda had said, "listen to the head, because it can't lie."

I could get behind the whole freak-out thing, you know?

Then the soft, vibrating shrill of the Scythe sounded the call, and I let all of that go and went to see who would be re-activated to try to end this threat.

We all gathered in the study of the house that was the center of the Montana branch of the Giles Academy— all the Slayers who'd come here to fight, all the Watchers and Guardians, Faith was there, looking sexy as hell in her Slayer armor, and all my lovers, and Ian and Joyce, even Uncle Ethan.

_~We are ready,~_ the Scythe said when we arrived. _~We can empower but seven— but with Judith Holmes, whom we would have Chosen next Summer-Eve had she not received the original Slayer power, and Piper Benjamin, who is a Slayer by both temperament and power, you will be nine. That may be sufficient unto the day._

_~Now… the Calling begins.~_

We all stood, frozen by nerves, waiting and wondering— and after a moment that only _seemed_ to last hours, the Scythe went on.

_~Buffy Harris, once Buffy Summers, you are the Prime. We say to you that we are pleased to give you the power of the Slayer once again— and now you may say that you have been Chosen by both kinds of Slayer power.~_

Buffy shuddered— and whispered, "Thank you."

_~But you will not be alone in this twin Calling, Prime._

_~Faith Kilpatrick, once Faith Lehane, who is the Renewed… you have learned much down the many years. Most importantly, we feel, you have learned to love— and you will fight for that love, fight hard and with all your being— as you love with your whole being. You, too, are Called.~_

Faith shuddered as Buffy had, then said, "Thanks. Thank you." She looked at Buffy, grinned a wicked grin, and said, "Well, the Team Supreme rides again, right, B?"

Buffy snickered and nodded.

_~Rose Killian and Elaine Marshall, who are as close to one soul as any in two bodies can be,~ _the Scythe said, sounding dreamy and sort of caught up in the palpable romance between those two. _~The Undefeated and the Dancer, two Slayers who share one heart… you are Called.~_

My aunts shivered a little, joined hands, and said in unison, "Thank you. We're ready."

Then everything in my world changed.

Remember back a ways, when I said that Judith's logic, while it had helped me get past some of my doubt and upset over not having been Chosen, couldn't help me get past all of that hurt and doubt in one leap? That I'd have to have something "huge, huge and powerful, even _magical,"_ to do that?

Something huge happened. Huge and powerful, and very definitely magical.

_~Jocelyn Penobscot,~_ the Scythe said, and I felt the attention of the many minds that dwelled in it on me. _~Though we did not tell our daughter Sh'rin so, for fear of giving her too much knowledge of the future she would experience, we had for you a name like those we gave other members of your family. We saw your birth, saw what you would become, what you would do— and we rejoiced to find two who would be such dedicated Slayers in you and your mother. We rejoiced, and we Chose your mother then, rather than wait a year, that we might have a hand in making you what you are: The Blaze. You burn with a need to become all that a Slayer can become, and you will fulfill your need._

_~You are Called, Daughter of the Knight, Daughter of the Genuine— and never again let yourself doubt that we Chose you as well and carefully as we Chose your mother._

_~Burn, child. Be the Blaze!_~

Power ran into me, _filled_ me, and I welcomed that old friend with a shudder of delight and a crazy mix of laughter and tears— though both came from nothing but joy.

"Thank you!" I laugh-sobbed. "Thank you! I won't doubt, I'll never _have_ to doubt, not anymore!"

_~It is well,~_ the Scythe said, and I felt its attention shift. _~Chantelle Penobscot, once Chantelle Rostov, always and forever the Genuine, refusing to hide who you are and who you want to be… you have a gift that you have shared with your daughter, and that gift of the hunter's eye and arm will be needed— as will your warrior's heart. You are Called.~_

Mom shivered a little, grinned and said, "Looks like it's 'bring your daughter to work day,' huh, folks?"

_~You speak more truly than you know,~_ the Scythe said. _~Now… we make a choice that may frighten and upset. We cannot do otherwise though, for this is a part of what must happen if the world is to be safe._

_~To the Prime and the Heart we say that we and the Powers above us will do all we can to preserve she who is our final choice for this work that lies ahead— but that Joyce Harris, the Complete, must be a part of what comes, if there is to be a complete success._~

Joyce shivered, gasped aloud, and said, "I… thank you," before she pulled her father over to her mother, stood between them as they shared a look of worry, and held both their hands tightly.

_~For now, this is all we can do, for the Machine hurt us badly,~_ the Scythe said. _~Remember what we have said— and what you were told by the sister of the Blaze and daughter of the Genuine, for she spoke truly._

_~Go now. Save your world. Be true to your Calling._

_~Each day, at the original hour of the Activation, we will Call those we can, until all are restored— but you must work with what you have, for now._

_~Go and save your world._~

For a long moment, silence reigned— then I got hit from all sides with hugs and kisses and shouts of congratulations. Then, over it all, I heard Buffy shout at the top of her lungs, "JOCELYN KELLY PENOBSCOT, _**I TOLD YOU SO!"**_

I laughed aloud, worked my way to Buffy and wrapped her in a hug. "Yes, you did!" I laughed. "You did, and I promise, next time? I'll listen!"

We started to calm down, and I sat on Daddy's lap, held Mom and Colin's hands, and realized that I really was a _Slayer_. I'd been _Chosen,_ and like Aunt Rose said in the title of her book about the Battle of Bloomington, I'd damn well _stand!_

Everything that had been bothering me was gone, and I felt things in my mind shifting, old paths clogged by doubt and insecurity opening up again.

It. Felt. HEAVENLY!

When Buffy said, "Okay, we need to figure out the rest of what's going on, so we can stop it. Time for a council of war," Judith proved that she was very, very much her parents' daughter, and prevented us from making a mistake.

"Wait, not here!" Judith said. The others looked at her, and she said, "Warren can… 'bug' is the term, I believe— he can use listening devices in this place, and probably has some in place. I believe we should reverse how we got here. Additionally, there are more weapons at home."

"Yep," Xander said with a grin. "She's a Holmes. Good call, Judith."

"Colin?" Aunt Dawn said, hefting her bag of magical supplies.

"On the way," Colin said, scooping her up. "Home is an easy find, and I've been there from here once today— less than five minutes."

Very soon, we were gathering for a council of war in the library at Scooby Mansion. No sooner had we sat down than Aunt Elaine's cell phone rang. She reached to shut it off, and we all heard Charm, her pseudo dragon friend, cry, _*No, answer! Is… emergency! One of my people tries to send to me to tell why you must answer, but must be so far off, very faint. Answer!_*

Aunt Elaine answered the phone, and put it on speaker from the beginning. "Elaine Marshall-Innes."

"Elaine, thank god!" said the slightly tinny voice of Spider Robinson, the man who, with his wife, had written the novel that inspired Aunt Elaine to dance in space. "Listen, I've seen that guy, the robot guy, the one who killed Buffy and Xander's son! He's here, on Asimov Station!"

"Warren's there!?" Aunt Elaine said, shocked.

"Yes, you showed me the picture of him, remember?" Spider said. "I've seen him four times today, in separate parts of the damned station. I've been trying to call you for a while, you must have been out of the reception range."

"Holy crap," Xander said, clapping a hand to his forehead. "Belinda! She said the web-guy would be calling, and we had to listen or… or…."

" 'And the web-guy, he'll be calling and _you have to listen_— or it all falls down,' " Judith quoted.

"Yeah, that's it, thanks!" Xander said. "Web-guy— Spider!"

"All right, Spider, we'll get someone up there as soon as we've made some plans," Elaine said. "Probably not via shuttle, so don't go trying to meet those. I'll call you when we're ready to leave, and you can arrange to meet us."

"All right," Spider said. "Good luck, lady. And no getting killed! I haven't seen you dance live, yet!"

"All right, Spider, I'll remember," Aunt Elaine said with a chuckle, and hung up.

"Thoughts?" Buffy said.

"I have one, and I hate the hell out of it," Brian said. He'd sat at a computer and was typing madly. "One sec… oh, crap, I think I'm right.

"I think he's going to bring Asimov Station out of orbit— and drop it on us."

"Oh, shit," Buffy said. "Colin? Can you get a team up there?"

"Damn straight," he said. "The shelter's in the garage, and the air supply's full, I recharged it after taking Spider upstairs."

"Good," Buffy said. "Now all we need to do is find Catherine— surely she won't be stupid enough to work in the same place Amy did."

"Leave that to me," Uncle Ethan said, smiling a smile that was more than half smirk. "This is a day of _balance,_ love, the Autumnal Equinox. What Catherine is doing will knock things quite _out_ of balance— and for an old chaos-lover like me, finding that shan't be much of a chore."

"Get to it, then, thanks," Buffy said.

"I'll work in the basement here," Ethan said. "Give me… fifteen minutes."

Uncle Ethan strode out, and we all turned back to Buffy.

"Okay," Buffy said. "Two teams, and the groundside team is the bigger.

"Rose, Elaine, you know the Station, and you know low-and-zero gravity movement. Take Faith and Chantelle for additional Slayer power and scary accuracy. Colin, you work with them— you're vacuum-proof if something goes wrong, on top of being their only ride up there. For Watchers— Ballard, you and Vincent. He learns physical stuff super-fast, so he shouldn't be too put-off by the gravity. For magical oomph, you take Sh'rin. We need Willow and Dawn down here, Wil's our best shot against Catherine's magic."

I had a flash of insight, and I said, "Buffy, wait— no. Send Willow and Aunt Sh'rin upstairs. Keep Wil as far from Catherine as you can."

"Jocelyn, I don't think—" Buffy started.

"No, _listen,"_ I said, and stood. "Catherine hates Willow more than anyone else, hates her so much it's scary. Seeing Willow, knowing Willow's around, even, that will just push Catherine _harder_— and make her more likely to succeed."

"Jocelyn, I don't know if—" Buffy started again— and Judith interrupted.

"I do beg your pardon, Buffy," Judith said, "But the Scythe told us to listen to the things Belinda said, one of which was, 'you have to trust confusion's end. You have to let the reborn follow what she knows to be true, even if it make no sense.'

"Jocelyn's second calling has ended her confusion over whether or not she was meant to be a Slayer— and look at her, tell me she doesn't seem totally 'reborn.'

"While you may think that leaving Willow out of the assault on Mrs. Madison makes no sense… it is what Belinda told us to do, after a fashion."

Buffy hesitated a moment, then said, "Damn. Okay, you're both right. Willow, you get to be the Good Witch of Outer Space."

"Okay, Buffy," Willow said. "I'm good with that, listening to the Powers and all."

"My team," Buffy said, "is Jocelyn, Piper, Judith and Joyce for Slayers (and reasonable facsimiles thereof), Giles, Xander, Kelly and Whitey for Watchers, Dawn for magic. We'll need some START people— Graham?"

(We'd brought the whole platoon home with us, of course.)

"What's mine is yours," he said. "Where do you want us?"

"One squad with the entry team, the rest outside, under command of Lydia and Vi," Buffy said. "Andrew for magic, and his girls can help, too— maybe they aren't powered right now, but they're still trained to hell and gone."

"Got it," Graham said. "I'm going in with you— rank hath its privileges, etc."

"You define 'privileges' oddly," Buffy said. She looked around at all of us, nodded once, and said, "Okay— space team, go. The rest of us will take off as soon as Ethan tells us where we're going.

"Wait— we need someone from here to go to Scotland to brief them. Watchers, decide amongst yourselves who goes."

They ended up drawing straws for it, and Kelly lost. Or won, depending on how you look at it. Before the space team left, Willow coordinated with a witch on Robson's team in Edinburgh and Kelly went through (after lots of goodbye hugs and kisses), grumbling about having to miss the action as she went.

A lot of hugs and kisses later, Colin lifted the space-side team towards Asimov Station, and the rest of us waited to find out where we'd have to go to stop Catherine Madison from unleashing hell on Earth— literally.


	42. Splitting Forces

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 42: Splitting Forces

Something niggled at my mind while we sat around waiting for Ethan to tell us where Catherine Madison was working, but I couldn't get it to come forward. I was opening my mouth to ask Ripley for help when Ian, who'd been sitting quietly off to one side, holding hands with Joyce, said, "Buffy?"

"Yes, Ian?"

"I want to come with you. I'm supposed to, I think." Ian sighed and shook his head a little. "I know, we still haven't figured out a lot of what I can do… but I'm still supposed to go with you, I think."

"I'm not exactly thrilled about the idea," Buffy said. She looked at him, saw that he was scared— but still resolute— and went on, "But I'll listen. State your case."

"The Guardians said that we have to listen to and remember all the things Belle said," Ian said. "Remember?"

"I remember." Buffy gave him nothing else to work with, made him lead her.

"Belinda said that you should take everyone here with you to Montana, even me, Judith and Joyce," Ian said. He looked thoughtful as he said, "She said we all had our parts to play… but I haven't done anything. So… I should go with you. Play my part. And… Buffy, I love Joyce. I want to help keep her safe. One of the few things we know I can do is heal people, and—"

"And healing a wound more serious than a Band-Aid could take care of wipes you out," Buffy said. She shook her head. "Ian, I don't think—"

"Evil things burn if they touch me, at least when I've got Hope's light burning," Ian said. He then burst into Hope's light, the bright blue lines tracing their enigmatic pattern all over his body. "I can stay like this for hours at a time— did it all day once, to see if I could, remember? And I can calm people down, always, even if they're hurt. That could be handy.

"Add in that sometimes spells just… don't work on me, and I can help, Buffy. I know it. I'm _supposed_ to help, I know that, too."

Buffy locked eyes with him, held his gaze for a long, long moment, then said, "Go get whatever weapons you can use. You're getting good with a staff, I'd recommend one of those, and you'll need something with an edge.

"On the bed in your bedroom, you'll find some heavy leather pants and a heavily padded jacket— it's not armor, but it will help some. Get it on, get your weapons, get ready fast."

He blinked— then stood and said, "On my way," and ran out of the room.

"Okay, he was smart enough not to thank me," Buffy said with a sigh. She blew hair out of her face and said, "Points for brains."

"You were planning on taking him all along?" Giles asked.

"No, but I wasn't going to leave him behind if he asked," Buffy said. "Or at least not if he asked the right way for the right reasons. I remembered what Belinda said, Giles, and I'd noticed that he hadn't 'played his part' yet, so I wanted to be ready."

"You've certainly grown into the role of general of an army, Buffy," Giles said with a nod of approval.

"Nah, just a colonel," Buffy said. She smiled at Giles a little and said, "I'm a field commander. You're the General, Giles.

"Hmm. 'General Giles'— I like it, it has a ring to it."

"Don't you dare!" Giles said, pointing an admonishing finger at her. "I never have told anyone about the unqualified disaster that was your Home Economics final exam your sophomore year at Sunnydale High, young lady, but if you start referring to me by that title, I shall tell all and sundry!"

"Blackmailing _fiend_," Buffy muttered, and sank into her chair, pouting in a fashion that made it plain she was joking.

My brain stopped niggling at me, and I decided that taking Ian must have been what it wanted. Good on my brain, if Buffy was ready for it.

Ian came downstairs dressed in black leather pants and a heavy, gray, canvas-and-leather padded jacket that would act as at least partial armor, and Joyce made a little growly noise of approval at the figure he cut. I couldn't argue— his well-muscled body and his mild-but-handsome face worked well with the warrior's garb. He had a metal-capped quarterstaff in one hand and a short sword hanging on his hip.

"You stick with Joyce unless Jocelyn or I tell you different," Buffy said to him as he moved to sit next to Joyce. "Jocelyn— you're my second on this. I go down, you finish the job."

"Understood," I said. I met her eyes, let her see that I didn't like the idea of her falling, but that I felt I could handle the responsibility. "I'll do it, if it comes to that, Buffy. Just don't let it come to that."

"That's part of my plan," Buffy said, giving me a little smile. "Not falling? Key element."

Uncle Ethan came upstairs then and he looked both smug and worried.

"I have it," he said. "Catherine Madison is doing her ritual in a rather disturbingly expansive underground area— created for her by Warren, I suspect— under the old Eastland Mall complex."

"Crap," Buffy said— and I couldn't have agreed more.

Eastland Mall, a shopping mall with more than ninety stores, had closed in the spring of that year, some six months before, when the company that owned it went bankrupt in a big way, complete with criminal charges and the full, unfettered fury of the IRS. It hadn't been bought yet, but all of the stores had stripped their outlets there and pulled out anyway, hadn't waited to see if someone would buy the place.

"Okay, Graham has us some transports coming." Buffy stood and stretched, looked around at all of us, and said, "You all know the stakes. You know the sheer hell that will be unleashed on the world if Catherine succeeds.

"What I _hope_ you know is how damned proud I am of all of you. You know how bad this can be, but I look around and all I see is a bunch of people who are ready and willing to go and do what has to be done, and never mind how dangerous or scary that is.

"The Scythe chose well. The Powers That Be chose well when they put you people in my life— and I'm grateful to both, as well as to all of you."

A loud horn blast sounded from out front, announcing the arrival of the transports from START.

"We've got an apocalypse to stop," Buffy said, looking around at us one last time. "Let's get it done."

So we went. Five active Slayers (sort of, counting Piper, and two of those Slayers very inexperienced), forty-five well armed soldiers, five Watchers (counting Andrew Wells and Uncle Ethan), one Guardian and two dozen well-trained (if no longer super-powered) inactive Slayers set out to save the world.

Just like old times….

_Interlude: Asimov Station_

Getting aboard the Station in the pressurized chamber Ballard had designed for pseudo dragons to make the trip to orbit had been easy; it had a standard airlock, after all. Getting Starpulse in after involved a bit more shuffling. They wanted to leave the chamber attached to the lock for speed of departure later, and getting a Station Security officer to open another lock for Starpulse took a reminder of the things Team Slayer had done for the station in June.

"Highly irregular," muttered the corporal who finally did it for them as he overrode the small emergency lock nearest the one they'd used for the shelter. "First all of you come in without tickets or passports, now I'm supposed to let in _another_ guy without a ticket, a passport or even a damned _spacesuit_."

The lock cycled, and Starpulse entered, nodded his thanks and looked at Ballard, who was looking at Elaine as she conversed rapidly with Spider Robinson, who had been waiting at the airlock when they arrived thanks to a call from Elaine.

"Wait, you're telling me that wasn't the same guy, even?" Spider said. He looked a little shocked, but only a little. "He's got _how many_ bodies?"

"At least thirty," Elaine said. "Maybe more. We really don't know, Spider. Can you take us to where you last saw one of him?"

"Sure thing, let's go," Spider said, and strode off, moving easily in the one-third gravity of the station. He'd completely forsaken his cane, and seemed to be perfectly spry. As he walked, he said, "You know, I'm going to be owing you guys for a long, long time for bringing me up here. I feel like I'm thirty again, maybe younger, and I'm writing like a madman. I do my column every day— between a thousand and fifteen hundred words— and then I go see something cool on the station, something like the Laboratory for Space Medicine, the Space Travel Lab, the Museum of Space Travel, a viewport that lets me see the Earth, whatever— then I go and write for another four or six hours on a novel that I started the day I came up here.

"I feel like a kid again, and it's all thanks to you guys— so I'm glad I can help with this."

*'_Glad' is an understatement,*_ his pseudo dragon, Willis, sent to all the Team Slayer party. *'_Giddy' would be a bit more accurate._*

"Could be, yeah," Spider said with a chuckle. "After all, how often does a writer who's damn near seventy get to help save the world? Not too damned often, I'd bet."

He led them to a wide concourse near the main entry lock to the Station and pointed to a shop right across the way from it, a souvenir place run by the Station itself. "He was coming out of there. Had on jeans and a T-shirt that said 'Gamers do it in groups.' Turned left out of the shop, headed down the spoke just down there."

"Okay," Willow said, stepping forward and looking around a little. "Lots of traffic here, maybe a little less in the spoke. Let's go down there, and I'll try to get a track on him.

"Um, can someone used to low gravity hold my hand? I feel like I'm gonna bounce off of the ceiling, or something."

Chuckling, Spider took Willow's hand and walked her down to the spoke. She looked down it, nodded, and said, "Oh, yeah, lots better. Let's just go a few feet in, so we're out of everyone's way, and I'll make with the mojo, see if I can't lock onto Robot Boy."

They went a little way down the hall, Willow cast a short, simple spell— and she grinned for a moment. "Got him. He's… oh, shoot, the spell isn't meant for not-a-planet environments. Um, he went thattaway." She pointed straight ahead and slightly up. "Come on, but let's walk slow, so I don't lose my fix on him."

Without discussion, Rose moved ahead of Willow even as Elaine fell to the back of the group to play rear guard. Faith moved to walk on Willow's other side, and Chantelle walked behind Ballard and Sh'rin, who followed Willow, Spider and Faith. Vincent and the security man came behind Chantelle, then Elaine, and they moved slowly, but not at a crawl.

They reached a junction and Wil indicated that Rose should continue straight on, did so again as they kept moving towards the center of the station. They all got lighter and lighter as they moved towards the center of the station, and soon Wil said, "Heck with it," let go of Spider's hand, and began moving herself— carefully, very carefully— with her telekinesis.

Soon enough, they came to the hub of Asimov Station— and Willow's gaze traveled up to the door above them labeled "Control Room: Authorized Personnel Only!"

"Uh-oh." She sighed and said, "I hate to get all offensive magic here, you know? I could end up doing damage to the Station."

"But if the asshole's in there, he can do what Brian was talking about," Faith said in a grim voice. "He can drop this place on Normal— and that's some serious bad."

"I can get the door open," Starpulse said, and Rose nodded at him.

Starpulse drifted close to the door and aimed his hands at it— but the security man, forgotten by all and sundry, yelled, "Hey! Don't even think about it!" He'd drawn his sidearm, a laser pistol, and had it aimed at Starpulse. "Back away from the door or I will fire!"

Elaine's hand blurred, and suddenly the security man was shaking his empty hand, trying to relieve the pain of his gun leaving his hand at speeds too fast for his eyes to follow.

"Don't point guns at my friends," Elaine said as she took the charge-pack out of the laser pistol. "We don't have time for playing nice, and—"

"Look, let me call them, have them open up for us," the corporal said. "Lady, that door costs more than most people make in five years of their lives, and there are delicate instruments on the other side of it that cost even more. Let me call in. Please."

Elaine looked at Rose, and Rose nodded reluctantly before saying, "Hold up, Starpulse. We let him try it his way."

The man pulled a Station-phone off of his belt (a cell phone that operated on frequencies rarely used because they weren't good for more than three miles or so, and that wouldn't interfere with other frequencies at all), and pressed some buttons. He put it on speaker from the start, so they heard the cheerful voice that answered, "Control Room, how may I help you, Corporal Garson?"

Garson looked oddly at the phone, but said, "This is a security override, level two-orange. Open the door, we have visitors with legitimate business concerning the safety of the Station."

"Ooo, sorry, no can do, Corporal," the voice said. "We're kind of busy in here, and we just can't afford visitors, sorry."

"I'm not asking, I'm _telling,_ mister— who is this?"

"The name is Mears. Warren… Mears. And I don't care what you're telling me, meat-sack."

"Starpulse, get that door open," Rose snapped.

Garson hung up, pressed three keys on his phone, and earned points from the members of Team Slayer that he was with right then by reversing from 'slightly annoying pest' to 'willing to help security officer.' When he spoke, his voice echoed from speakers all around them.

"This is Cpl. Wayne Garson, Station Security," he said, his voice steady and calm. "I am declaring a Station-wide emergency. This is not a drill. All Station personnel, this is situation ninety-three, I repeat, situation ninety-three.

"Station Security, be advised; we have non-personnel allies, designation: Hammer."

At Rose's puzzled look, Garson smiled nervously and said, "Situation ninety-three refers to United Airlines Flight Ninety-Three, which was hijacked as part of the nine-eleven attacks of oh-one— means there's an attempted hijacking of the Station.

"Designation: Hammer… um, way back when, Hammer Studios made a whole lot of horror movies, lots about vampires…."

All of the Team Slayer people cracked up, and Garson relaxed visibly.

Even as Starpulse started firing at the control room door, the Station shuddered.

"Oh, shit, those are our retros," Garson said. He'd gone very, very pale. "The ones on the space side of the Station— they'll push us towards Earth."

"How long to decay the orbit dangerously?" Starpulse asked.

"Ten minutes, maybe, at max power," Garson replied.

"Piece of cake," Starpulse said. "I'm about to damage your Station, Cpl. Garson— but I think you'll agree, there's no other way."

"Go!" Garson pointed to a hallway that ran left from just before the control room door. "Airlock there— override code is Skywalker, type it on the pad right of the door!"

Starpulse flew off without another word, even as a whole lot of security men and women flitted up from down the hall. The man in front was Security Chief Winston, whom Rose, Elaine, Sh'rin and Ballard had met on their last trip up here.

"Holy shit," Winston said. He blinked at the armor all the members of Team Slayer except Willow wore, and said, "Okay. It's bad, I got that, between the retros and your being here— is it vampires? Demons?"

"Neither, Chief Winston," Rose said, shaking his hand. "Robotic former human. Crazy as an honest politician, hates Team Slayer with a passion, has tons of tricks up his sleeve, and a witch on his side."

"I should've been an insurance salesman," Winston groaned. "Dad tried to tell me, but did I listen? No, I _had_ to go to space.

"What can you do?"

"Starpulse is about to destroy the retrorockets," Rose said. "After that… we'll have to play it by ear."

"Never a dull moment," Winston said. He looked at the man immediately behind him and said, "Tarrant, open the door. We let Team Slayer go in first— they're acquainted with what we're facing, and equipped to battle without damage to equipment— or at least without as _much_ damage."

Tarrant, a small, mousy-looking man, stepped to the door, opened a panel that none of the Team Slayer people had even noticed, and produced a device from a shirt pocket, attached wires from it to the circuits revealed by the removal of the plate.

"Probably won't work," Rose said, sounding annoyed. "Warren will have rewritten all override codes to the control room."

"Good thing there's no code involved, then, huh?" Winston said with a hard grin. "Believe me, we took that into account, Rose. Every door on this station has a simple, hardwired override that is in no way computerized or attached to any computerized system. Smack it with the right voltage and—"

The control room door hissed and popped open six inches or so, and from the other side, they all heard Warren Mears say, "What the hell?"

Even as they started into the control room, Slayers first, the station shuddered and shifted suddenly, and Chantelle muttered, "You go, Colin!" as she charged in.

"Tarrant, call up some heavy-duty tugs from Armstrong City while the Slayers do their job," Winston said. "They can reseat us in our orbit while we work on repairing the retros." Then he stood in the open control room door to watch the fight.

Chantelle and Faith, being less accustomed to the vagaries of zero gravity, had to stop and take a moment to adjust to the sudden confusion caused by the spherical room with control panels covering seventy-five percent of every surface except the two doors that opened into the place. Rose and Elaine, however, glanced at the half-dozen dead bodies strapped in various chairs— and went straight after Warren-bot, Rose in a long, flat dive, her blade out and reaching for Warren-bot, Elaine in a bouncing, ricocheting orbit that let her hit the Warren-bot from behind even as Rose hit him from the front.

The Warren-bot, though, had programming for dealing with zero gravity, and was damnably fast. Instead of sinking into the Warren-bot's stomach at belt level, Rose's sword scraped across the outside of its hip, and Elaine's kick at his head missed completely, sending her into a narrow spot between two consoles on the "floor" behind Rose.

"You people," the Warren-bot said conversationally, "are on my last neural simulation circuit, you know that?"

Faith hit him then, both feet slamming into his back as she finished a reasonably well done flip after kicking off of a wall. Unfortunately, her unfamiliarity with zero-gee movement caused her to bounce away from Warren-bot and hit a control panel hard, even as Warren-bot slammed into a different panel on the opposite side of the spherical room.

Rose and Elaine moved at him again as Faith, groaning as her back protested the slamming about she'd given herself, righted herself, holding onto a console for stability.

Chantelle stayed where she was for a moment, watching— then crabbed sideways and looked out the door. " 'Scuse me, but could I borrow Sgt. Tarrant for a sec, please? Thanks a bunch."

Tarrant moved in gracefully, and Chantelle told him what she wanted, whispering softly against his ear. The man blinked in surprise— then grinned and tugged Chantelle towards a console as she unlimbered her metal longbow and handed the sergeant a metal arrow.

Rose was not having an easy time of things, nor Elaine. They kept trying to pin Warren against a surface, and he kept escaping just before the pin happened. Rose had given up on her sword, sheathed it, and gone into kung-fu-dervish mode, even as Elaine hit the true Capoerista's "crazy tornado" pace (both modified for zero gravity, of course). Faith had continued her surprise attacks, bouncing at Warren-bot from every direction, now taking into account the momentum translated back to her from her attacks, and recovering much better.

Chantelle watched and waited, saw Elaine notice her standing ready, then Faith, and finally Rose. Once all three had seen her and what she'd had Sgt. Tarrant do for her, they started working a little differently. Faith, acknowledging her unfamiliarity with the environment, stopped trying to hit Warren-bot and began simply moving past him, missing him deliberately, distracting him as Rose and Elaine set him up.

It didn't take long; they'd been coming here for years, since the station opened to the public in 2011, and they had been Slayers, lovers and a nigh-unstoppable team for eight years before that.

Rose hit Warren with a carefully controlled kick, bounced away from him towards the door even as Elaine spun into him, hit with her feet in an even more controlled impact, and moved away towards the opposite door. Warren-bot was left in the middle of the room, spinning and tumbling slowly, unable to reach anything to push off against, drifting slowly— much too slowly to help him— towards a control console some fifteen feet away.

"Hey," Chantelle said softly from the far side of the room. "Over here, you bad Pinocchio imitation!"

Warren-bot looked around at Chantelle— and she loosed the arrow she'd had drawn to full extension, flew backwards with a surprised squawk as the recoil-imparted momentum from the shot hit her— and missed the end result of her own shot as she hit Chief Winston in the doorway and the two of them got tangled up.

The arrow, trailing wires from the console Chantelle had been next to, impacted square on the Warren-bot's artificial navel, punched into his metallic spine— still a major nexus for his "neural simulation circuits" as he'd built his body as closely to human design as he could— and Sgt. Tarrant flipped the breaker on the console whose wires had been attached to Chantelle's arrow.

Electricity shot into the arrow, then out through the Warren-bot, frying his every circuit instantly and, for lack of a better word… fatally.

The breaker reversed before the power in the control room went out, and Chantelle, untangled from the Security Chief, got hit by a three-sided hug as Rose, Elaine and Faith hit her, whooping their delight.

In a storeroom in the Space Travel Museum on the outer edge of Asimov Station, Warren Mears sighed his frustration, looked at his selves in the room with him, and said, "Okay. Plan B."

All of him nodded at him in acceptance, and the one who'd spoken produced a phone-like device that had been heavily modified, opened it and spoke again.

"Task Force Inferno, this is Dante," Warren said into the phone. "Primary plan has failed— get in here."

"Inferno, roger," a male voice replied. "Contacting the sorcerer now— three minutes to assault."

Warren-bot looked around at his many selves and said, "Okay— now we wait until Team Slayer is distracted and we're facing the right direction, then… well, what's a few bodies less when we get to kill Buffy and everyone she cares about?

"They've managed to keep some Slayers active, somehow, and they've got their comic book hero— but we're still on task."

His selves nodded at him, and they sat to wait for their moment.

From each of them, though, came a quiet humming noise… the noise of some sort of power generator cycling to a higher output….

"Chief!" Cpl. Garson shouted as Chief Winston shook hands with Chantelle Penobscot. "Problems! We've got… shit, I think there are some sort of demons on the station! They're appearing on the main concourse by the lock at radius two-seventy— lots of them, and they're still coming out of some sort of hole in the air!"

"Willow, kill that gate!" Rose called. "Chief, we need to get there ASAP— which way?"

"Follow the blue stripe!" the security chief said, pointing at a wide blue stripe painted on a wall.

"We're gone, everyone, weapons out!" Rose shouted. "Chief, have your people watch the small exterior locks for Starpulse, let him in and send him to us when he shows up at one!"

"On it!" Winston called after her— then watched the Team Slayer folks shoot off down the spoke towards the lock at radius two-seventy, Rose, Elaine, Ballard and Sh'rin outdistancing the others rapidly thanks to their familiarity with zero-gee movement.

Willow stayed where she was long enough to cast a short, powerful spell that closed down the gate the demons were using, then sailed off after the others, moving under the power of her own telekinesis.

"Good luck, people," Winston said softly. Then he looked at his men and said, "Get people on the other airlocks, now. We may not be as experienced as they are at this— but if anything shows up anywhere else, we have the advantage of being used to the lower gravity."

Sgt. Tarrant started talking to his station phone immediately, and Winston started off towards the lock at radius ninety to keep watch for another incursion.

_Eastland Mall, Bloomington, Illinois— Jocelyn:_

After reading— several times— the history of the Battle of Bloomington, I expected us to have a hell of a time getting into the old Eastland Mall, expected it to be surrounded by monsters, and to have more constantly arriving. Didn't happen that way.

There was nothing at all in the parking lot around the mall, not even a stray car or a lone vampire. Somehow, that managed to be worse than an army of demons— or at least creepier.

"The entrance to the underground area where Catherine is working is in the Bergner's court," Uncle Ethan said. "So let us park near the east entrance to the mall near where Bergner's was, please."

We parked, we offloaded, and Buffy looked around before saying, "I realize there's nothing out here right now, but that could change. Lydia, Vi, stay here and keep your eyes peeled. Ethan, you're their magic. If something comes up elsewhere in town, you do what needs doing, up to and including taking all of your forces to it and leaving us here alone. That is an _order_— don't argue with me."

"All right, Buffy," Vi said, though she looked worried. "Just… be careful in there, okay?"

"We will," Buffy said, and smiled. "Inside team— let's go."

We went to the doors, Buffy jerked them open casually, shattering the metal locks, and we went into something that was nothing at all like what I expected.

I expected battling for every inch. What I got was a series of magical puzzles that locked down various methods of entry to the mall, to the actual complex, and to the next damned monster.

Just inside the door, something dropped from the ceiling, missed landing on Buffy only because she dove forward, heard or felt it coming and dived out of the way. This left Graham, who'd been right behind Buffy, face-to-face with a Turok-han vampire.

Graham grinned at the thing, said, "Bye, now!" and fired the over-and-under rifle-slash-grenade-launcher that he carried into the thing's gut. There was a dull "WHUMP"— and the vampire blew apart and dusted.

"What the heck did you hit it with?" Buffy asked from the ground, where she lay with her heels and a longsword pointed at where the Turok-han had been.

"Little idea we stole from Whitey," Graham said, grinning over his shoulder at my Daddy. "Low-power grenade, loaded with powdered communion wafer, some holy water— and a little bit of white phosphorous just for insurance."

"I'll take a dozen gross," Daddy said immediately— and he and Graham laughed.

"Okay what the heck is this?" Buffy asked, looking at the whiteboard that stood a few feet further in— right against a deep blue force field. "Numbers and stuff. Not my thing. Let's see if we can't get the force field down with more… conventional methods."

Buffy started attacking the field (which visibly extended into the stores on either side of the hall, so we couldn't just go around), and I moved to help. Nothing we did seemed to bother it, nothing Graham tried bugged it— but while he and Dad worked on it, Buffy and I examined the whiteboard.

It sat there on a small easel, and on the shelf across the bottom where you'd usually find a marker or an eraser or both, sat a jumbo pack of Crayola crayons, the hundred and twenty pack. Six numbers had been written on the white board, each in a different color, and below the bottom number was a single black line.

First the number 42 in green. Below that, the number 1 in red. Below that, 6 in yellow. Then 3,263,442 in a deep, dark purple-blue. Below that a 2 in orange. And at the bottom, above that black line by far enough to leave space to write on that line, the number 1806 in blue.

Buffy and I stared at it, trying to make sense for a long moment, then Judith said from behind us, "Oh, I see. Excuse me, please?"

We glanced behind us at Judith, who stood looking at the puzzle with her eyes alight.

"You see?" Buffy said. "You know what's next? How?"

"Quite simple, really, once you stop thinking of those numbers being in the order they're written in," Judith said, stepping forward and opening the crayon box. She started pulling crayons out, reading the labels on them, dropping them back in. "If you put them in order from smallest— one— to largest— three million, two hundred and sixty-three thousand, four hundred and forty-two— you will then see that they are also in the order of the visible spectrum. 'Read Out Your Good Book In Verse,' you see? Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and…." She pulled out a purple crayon, grinned and showed us the label on it. "Violet.

"From there, it becomes a simple mathematical puzzle, and—"

"Simple!?" Buffy and I said in perfect harmony.

"Quite, actually," Judith said. "Each number in the sequence, after the one, is the result of that number multiplied by itself plus one. One times itself plus one is two, two times itself plus one is six, six times itself plus one is forty-two, etcetera. Thus the number ten trillion, six hundred and fifty billion, fifty-six million, nine hundred and fifty thousand, eight hundred and six is next, being the result of three million, two hundred and sixty-three thousand, four hundred and forty-two multiplied by three million, two hundred and sixty-three thousand, four hundred and forty-three."

"You did that in your head!?" Buffy asked as Judith started for the whiteboard.

"Yes, of course," Judith said, sounding puzzled. "It's only simple arithmetic.

"Whitey? Graham? Do step back, please, I can open the field."

Dad and Graham looked around, came over when Buffy waved them to, and listened to Judith's explanation.

"Damn," Daddy said. "I like numbers and math, Judith, and I'd never have seen that. You're good, young lady!"

Judith grinned, blushed a little, wrote "10,650,056,950,806" on the black line on the whiteboard with the violet crayon— and grinned as the force field faded away to nothing.

She stopped grinning when the two dozen P'korkin demons appeared between us and the next force field, some fifty feet down the hall, and charged us, huge, sharp, insectoid arms swinging at us already.


	43. Enemy Territory

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 43: Enemy Territory

Years before I was born, there was this old science-fiction-horror movie called Mimic. I saw it on cable one night the summer before Warren, Catherine and Drusilla's little scheme came to fruition, and the damned P'korkin demons made me think of the monster bugs in that movie. Over six feet tall, with the "classic" insectoid three-section body, though thickened at the joining points to allow for much greater mass. The upper body section and the head stooped forward a little bit, to allow for bipedal movement, the "arms" longer than the back or middle legs, but with an extra joint to allow the P'korkin to walk on all sixes and stay level. All six legs are sharp and tough, and the carapace is very tough.

We didn't even have to fight, though— because that tough carapace isn't bulletproof.

"Down!" Graham called from behind us, and we three dove for the ground.

The ten-soldier squad and Graham opened up with their M-22B rifles, all on single shot, and the two at either end dropped grenades in the middle of the mass. Fifteen seconds later, no living P'korkin was in the area.

"Thanks, Graham," Buffy said. "I hate fighting bug-things."

"No problem," Graham said, and bowed us towards the next barrier, which was an even deeper shade of blue.

This time, a tile-puzzle stood in front of the force field instead of a whiteboard. You know, those puzzles that you get that are frames with tiles in them that usually have one empty square, and you slide the squares around to make a picture or a pattern or something? Where you have to be careful because with only one empty square, your choices are limited? I hate those things, and by Buffy's groan, I wasn't alone. Add in that this one was sixty-four (well, sixty-three, with the one missing square) four-inch squares in an eight-by-eight pattern, all in a frame almost three feet on a side, and missing only one square as usual, and I groaned really loud.

The tiles weren't numbered or part of a picture, either, but were covered with little symbols, dots on some (in various numbers and colors), lines on others (also in various numbers and colors), some lines straight, some with angles, some curved or even outright squiggly, and some with two kinds of symbols, some with three, a few with all four.

"Judith?" Buffy said hopefully.

"I see the pattern of solution, I think," Judith said. She bit her lip then said, "However, I don't know if I should… oh, for lack of a better phrase, 'count up or count down.' Highest value to lowest, or lowest to highest?"

From behind me, Piper said, "Solve for whichever will take the longest. That's probably how Catherine set it up, since the idea is to delay us."

"Logical," Judith agreed. "Buffy?"

"Makes sense, from Catherine's point of view," Buffy agreed. "Do it, Judith.

"Piper, how'd you figure that out?"

"I don't know the lady the way you do, or Giles does," Piper said, smiling a little, "but Buffy, I know supervillains!"

Buffy laughed, Judith started working, Piper stood and watched Judith, and I moved away, stood and thought. After a couple of minutes of listening to the soft "rattle-click-rattle-clack" of Judith sliding tiles in the puzzle, I felt a presence at my elbow, looked up to see Graham standing next to me.

"You look all pensive," Graham said. "You _can't_ be worrying about being Chosen anymore, kiddo— so what's up?"

"This doesn't make sense, Graham," I said softly. "There shouldn't be solutions like this to get past barriers. The barriers should just be… barriers, not locks. Catherine shouldn't be offering us a chance like this. She wants Buffy and Willow dead, and her best shot at that is completing her ritual— so why is she giving us a chance at stopping it?"

"Crazy people don't always make sense, Jocelyn," Graham pointed out.

"Maybe not, but… but is she crazy? I mean— psychotic-crazy? Not-in-touch-with-reality crazy? Or is she just 'you killed my daughter' crazy?" I sighed and looked back at where Judith was working on the puzzle, Buffy's pseudo dragon friend Pointy sitting on her shoulder and watching with evident interest and pleasure. "She's been acting like the second kind of crazy, Graham— and that doesn't fit with these passable locks."

"You make a good point," Graham said. "Any thoughts on how it might affect what's coming?"

"Not yet," I admitted. "I can't… make it fit. I'm not Judith, or anything, but I do usually sort of… grasp these things, you know?"

"I know," Graham said, and tapped the patch on my START jacket that read 'Civilian Attaché: Combat/Intelligence.' "That's why I gave you this, remember?

"Is it okay if I bring your Dad and Buffy over, have you tell them this?"

"Sure," I sighed. "I wanted to have a possible reason to give them first, but I'm not seeing anything, or even getting a brain-nudge, so I might as well do it now.

"Oh— bring Piper, too, she made a point about how she understands villains."

A couple of minutes later I'd repeated my thoughts, and Buffy looked thoughtful as Dad and Piper nodded.

"I was thinking about that myself," Dad said, squeezing my shoulder. "Looks like everyone's been right all these years, Jocelyn— you got your mother's targeting ability and my detective's brain. And your mother's looks, which I know you're glad of.

"It doesn't fit. She's right. Everything I know, everything I've read, everything I've learned in college classes… it says that Catherine should be fighting much harder to keep us out."

"Can you make it fit at all?" Buffy asked Dad.

"Not with what we know, or have been thinking, no," Dad said.

"Um, I can think of one thing, just did think of it," Piper said, blushing at contradicting Daddy, who knew so much more than either of us about this.

"Stop your blushing and spit it out," Buffy said with a grin. "Piper, we know you've got a brain and damned good instincts— we'll listen."

"Okay, well… what if her heart's not in this?" Piper asked. She spread her hands and said, "It's been going on at least since May, so maybe she's… I don't know, calmed down. Gotten some distance, some perspective.

"What if she's figured out— subconsciously, I mean, not with the top of her brain— that what you and Willow did you did because Amy _forced_ you to? What if she's just… going through the motions, now?"

"Oh," Buffy said, looking startled. "I hadn't…."

"Or what if she's just doing it because she agreed to?" Daddy asked, looking thoughtful. "If she's just doing this to fulfill an obligation? Isn't a witch— even one who uses black magic— supposed to take her word pretty seriously?"

"Dawn?" Buffy called. "Come here a sec, please?"

Aunt Dawn came over, and Piper went through her thinking, Dad added his thoughts, and Buffy looked at Aunt Dawn and raised an eyebrow.

"It's possible," Aunt Dawn admitted grudgingly. "I mean— I can't argue with Jocelyn, Piper and Whitey's reasoning, but… I'm having a hard time imagining it, Buffy. She killed a lot of people, a lot of girls, out in Montana. That doesn't seem like the sort of thing you do if your heart isn't in it."

"So… maybe that's what broke her out of it," Dad suggested. "Maybe seeing what she'd done, or knowing what she'd done just… cleared her head a little."

"Oh!" I said, as my brain latched onto something and shoved it in front of my eyes. "Wait, what if— look, Drusilla, wasn't she threatening to… uh, torture Helena, make her watch Dru kill Angel and Faith, then make her a vampire? All to get back at Angel?"

"Yes, that… oh." Buffy nodded slowly. "If Dru talked about doing that to Catherine, and Catherine is the one who drained Faith and I, well… then she may think that she's responsible for someone's daughter being _tortured_. Even if she knows Drusilla failed, that might have… I don't know, made her really look at what she was doing.

"Good thought, Jocelyn. Dawn, what do you think?"

"It's not impossible," Aunt Dawn said. "If so— well, it increases our chances, so I won't argue with it. But does it change the mission any?"

For a long moment, Buffy looked a mixture of worried and unsure. Then her expression hardened, and she said, "No. No, we can't take that chance. The mission stays the same; stop Catherine Madison, stop her permanently— and stop her _hard_.

"Jocelyn… it has to be me or you that takes Catherine down. Judith hasn't the experience, and I won't ask her to kill a human, or Joyce. Piper… what she is would make that something she can't do, and I won't ask her to, I won't have her feeling like she's not the hero she is. (Don't argue with me, Piper Benjamin, because if I did ask you to kill someone, your Uncle Ben would haunt me forever, and I _don't_ want that.)

"Judith… she might be able to handle it— but I won't ask it of her. Joyce… that isn't who she is, or who she wants to be. We've talked about it, me and her and Xander, and she's… well, she's sure that she could kill a human if she absolutely had to— but scared to death of the possibility of having to.

"Can you do it if it comes to that, Jocelyn?"

I didn't answer right away— I thought about it. Answering that right away… well, if I'd been able to, I'd have scared myself silly. After almost a minute of considering, of thinking, of counting up all the things I cared about that would end if Catherine succeeded, I answered.

"If she succeeds, everything I ever loved will very probably die," I said, my voice a little unsteady. "You don't get to threaten to destroy my family, my friends, all the people I love, and all of the people that the Scythe Chose me to protect, not with impunity.

"If it comes to killing her or letting her succeed, she dies. I'll need a lot of sessions with Diane if it comes to that, I think— but I'll do it, and I'll get past the hurt of having to.

"I'm in, Buffy. All the way— and for keeps."

Buffy looked at me soberly for a moment, then a slow, proud smile broke out on her face. "And once again, I get to say it: Jocelyn Kelly Penobscot, I told you so!"

She hugged me, Daddy hugged me— they all hugged me. Graham only let go when Judith said, "I'm two moves from the solution— everyone had best get ready."

We spread out across the hall— and just as Judith slid the last tile into place, a big, bright light flashed off to our left, just outside the windows of an old men's clothing store, and five… people, I guess I'd have to say, appeared, even though three of them weren't human. Regardless of species, though… I recognized them all.

The barrier came down a half a second later, and there were vampires, animated corpses and demons swarming at us. I barely had time to yell, "On the left— they're not enemies!" before I had a Praxlig demon (cross a caterpillar and a grizzly bear, then give it deep yellow fur that exudes grease like a mink, and put curving, catlike claws on the ends of its twelve claw-paws— ugh!) in my face, rearing up to fall on me, intending to grip me with its front two sets of claws and rip me limb from limb.

I killed it— Praxligs have a nice, soft underbelly, perfect for slicing open with a sword— and heard Buffy yell, "Hey, no! You'll get hurt!"

I glanced to my left to see Constable Rej (short for "Reginald") Shoe, the only zombie member of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch (and he didn't look like a zombie to us— he wasn't runny or rotted, just gray-skinned and covered with stitches where he'd sewn himself back together here and there), picking up a zombie— a runny and nasty specimen— by the scruff of the neck.

"Excuse me, miss," Rej said, his English accent more cockney than anything else, "but have you tried simply talking to the zombies to find out why they're angry?"

Before Buffy could answer, I shouted, "Constable Shoe, these are NOT the zombies you're used to— they're mindless killers!"

"Oh, now, that's a hard attitude— oi! You bloody idjit!" Rej looked at the zombie that had dropped to the floor by the simple expedient of clubbing Rej's arm until it separated from his shoulder. "All right, chummy— if you want to play carnivorous eating machine, then that's how we'll play!"

Rej used his still-attached right arm to pick up his left— the hand formed into a fist as he picked it up— and started beating the runny-zombie with it, punctuating each powerful, hammer-like blow with a single word.

"Do— you— have— any— idea— how— long— it's— going— to— take— me— to— sew— this— back— on!?" he snarled. The last blow left the zombie on the ground, its head broken open, and it effectively un-animated.

Buffy stared for a long moment, a mixture of horrified— and amused. Then she waded back in, even as Constable Shoe, still wielding his own left arm as a weapon, started clubbing the next zombie in line.

I'd killed a couple of zombies while I half-watched Rej, and now I saw Captain Carrot Ironfoundersson moving to defend Joyce and Ian, who had a problem with a press of Praxligs and zombies. Even as he drew his sword and stepped forward, he called, "Don't you worry, Miss Harris, Mr. Matthias, I can help!"

Amazing. In the Discworld books that these people had stepped out of, Carrot was famous for knowing the names of every person he ever met— and it seemed that there really was magic involved, if he could do it here.

I got stupid and distracted by these people who'd stepped out of the pages of some of my all-time favorite books, and a pair of zombies grabbed my sword arm, dragged it down— and I saw a Praxlig charging at me, all twelve legs churning like mad.

I tried to brace myself for the impact— but it never came. Instead, a ropy, muscular bag of rusty-red fur landed on the Praxlig's back, grabbed both of the demon's ears, and yanked up and sideways with a bellowed "OOOK!"

The once-human, now-orangutan Librarian of the Great Library of Unseen University (where wizards go to learn to be wizards on the Discworld) pulled the demon's head around so suddenly and sharply that its body followed automatically, and it charged right past me— and since it reared up when the Librarian yanked its ears, it gave the START commandoes behind me a nice, soft, sure target. Several of them shot at once, killing it, and the Librarian leaped off as they shot, landed next to me.

"Ook," he said conversationally, and punched one of the zombies holding my arm hard enough to knock its head clear off.

I killed the other one by levering it up and over my head and slamming it headfirst into the hard tiled floor of the mall, then said, "Thank you, sir— but be careful, these aren't the creatures you're used to on the Disc."

"Ook, ook," the Librarian said, nodding, and _I swear,_ I knew— somehow— that he'd said, "Yes, I'd guessed as much."

That left Sir Samuel Vimes, Commander of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch, and the troll Sergeant Detritus— an eight foot high pile of ambulatory stone who's even stronger than you might think from that description— standing and watching the fight. After a moment, Commander Vimes lit a cigar, looked at Detritus, and said, "Sergeant— I do believe these people are badly outnumbered. Why don't you go even things up a bit?"

"Right, Mr. Vimes," Detritus said. He levered the freaking ballista— a siege crossbow— that he used as a hand-held weapon off of his shoulder and said, "Can I use der Piecemaker, Mr. Vimes?"

"Make sure you're at least in the middle of the enemy group before you do, Sergeant," Vimes answered.

"Yes, Mr. Vimes." Detritus lumbered forward, plowing right through a line of oncoming zombies, ignoring them as they broke their teeth trying to bite his stony hide. When he'd gone a good thirty feet inside the mass of demons that had formed around him, trying vainly to stop his implacable motion, he leveled the giant crossbow— loaded not with one bolt, but with a huge, long, bundle of hundreds of arrows, all tied together— at a Praxlig muzzle, and said, "Dis is der Watch. All of youse surrender now or I make youse deader den youse already are!"

In answer, the Praxlig tried to bite the head of the Piecemaker (and yes, it's spell p-i-e-c-e instead of p-e-a-c-e _on purpose_). Detritus pulled the trigger— and all hell came to visit the demons.

The Piecemaker was meant to fire huge, metal bolts that weighed a hell of a lot more than any bundle of even hundreds of wooden arrows. So the bundle broke up, the arrows broke up— and the friction of their insane speed out of the huge weapon caused them to burst into flame. The end result? A huge, expanding fireball that killed a double-assload of demons, vampires and zombies, and heated Detritus's armor to temperatures that would give a human serious burns, since the fireball started only a few feet from his massive form. It finished by slamming against the deeper-than-dark-blue wall of the next force field in, and when it burned itself out, our enemies were reduced by about half.

"Nicely done, Sergeant!" Commander Vimes called— and gave a vampire that had charged him the famed 'Vimes Elbow,' a weapon feared far and wide across the Discworld. "None of that, my lad! I've never liked vampires anyway!"

Captain Carrot was still helping Ian and Joyce, the Librarian seemed to have attached himself to me, and Rej Shoe was watching Buffy's flank for her. Detritus wandered back towards Commander Vimes, punching anything that came within reach with a fist the size (and consistency) of a cinder block.

We fought— and we won in much shorter order than might have been expected. When it was done, Buffy came over to me and said, "Okay, Jocelyn— you know these people, right?" I nodded, and she said, "Good— how about you help try to explain and do some introducing."

I nodded again, and went slowly over to where Commander Vimes stood, puffing on a cigar and looking relaxed.

"Uh, hi," I said. He looked at me with an expressionless face, and I said, "Commander Vimes, my name is Jocelyn Penobscot, and I'd like to thank you and the Watch for your help— you made things a lot easier for us, and you, Mr. Librarian, may have saved my life.

"Um, you're probably wondering how you got here, how I know who you all are—"

"No, I've got that bit," Vimes said, and reached around to his hip pocket. He brought out a paperback copy of THUD!, one of the later Discworld books featuring the Watch, and handed it to me. "Cut-Me-Own-Throat Dibbler found this in his sausage tray after a bit of a fuss near the High Energy Magic Building, and for a wonder, he was bright enough to bring it to me at the Treacle Mine Road Watch House. We took it to the Librarian, and as soon as he touched it— well, here we are.

"I'm guessing you've read this?"

"Yes, Commander," I said. "That and a lot more that also take place on the Discworld. Here… well, to us, you're fictional characters. But, um, I have to say— wow! Meeting you guys— this is the only cool part of this mess we're in."

"What sort of a mess is that, then?" Vimes asked, leaning against a wall (and looking _obscenely_ comfortable doing so).

"I'm not really sure there's time to—" I started.

"No, you go ahead," Buffy said. "Judith's gotten a look at the next lock— another whiteboard, this one with a bunch of chemistry stuff on it. She said it might be a bit— Piper's helping, and so's your dad. Take a couple and explain. These folks were nice enough to help us out, they should at least know what they've fallen into."

So I spent the next ten minutes explaining (as best I could) what was going on to five people from some of my all-time favorite books. If Susan Sto-Helit (Death's granddaughter) had been there with them, it would have been better than just those five— but that's the only way.

When I finished, Commander Vimes looked at me and asked "How old are you, young lady?"

"Almost fifteen, Sir Samuel," I admitted.

"Aren't you a little young for this sort of work?"

"No, sir." I gestured around at the other Slayers present and said, "With the exception of Buffy, I've had the Slayer power longer than any girl here. I know what I can and can't do better than most, and when my mind's on my work— I admit, I got distracted when I saw you guys, I won't let that happen again— I'm among the best there is at what we do. My calendar age may be low, but that's got nothing at all to do with my experience or my willingness to do what needs done."

"Hmm, I suppose you're right," he admitted. He lit a fresh cigar, looked around and said, "All right. You people are the Watch here— so far as I'm concerned, anyway— and coppers are coppers, never mind little things like gender, species and age. That being the case, I think we'll tag along until whatever happened to bring us here un-happens."

I had a thought then, and I grinned. "Commander, there are a lot of people outside who are temporarily without the power that they're used to having, and they're likely to 'fall into the kacky' while we're in here— the spell that's being done, it will cause more ripples in reality as it progresses— and they may need help more than we do. With you five along, well… I'd feel better about my friends being in danger. Detritus alone makes up for a lot of de-powered Slayers, Rej and the Librarian help on the power scale, and you and Captain Carrot are no pushovers. Plus you personally know a lot about fighting, more than most anyone out there. Could you help them out? I'll introduce you, make sure people know that you have some serious experience and should be listened to, if you'll do it."

Commander Sir Samuel Vimes gave me a long, hard, appraising look, and decided that I was serious, not just trying to get his people out of our way— he had always had a way of reading people— then nodded once. "I think we can do that, yes. Coppers are better at holding a line than they are at making advances. Lead on, Miss Penobscot."

So I cleared my idea with Buffy and led them outside, introduced them to Vi and to Major Gideon of START. (I didn't have to introduce them to Lydia— she saw us coming and squealed, "Oh my GOD, that's Detritus and Rej, and— and the _Watch_!") When I went inside, Commander Vimes was listening to Vi and Major Gideon explain the situation, and Lydia was deep in conversation with Captain Carrot and the Librarian. (Like me— like everyone— she seemed to understand the many and varied kinds of "ook" that the Librarian could produce.)

Ten minutes later, Piper finally worked out the answer to Catherine's chemical riddle, and the last force field before the entrance to the underground space where Catherine was working came down— only to reveal a plethora of demons in a plethora of types. At least a hundred critters, ranging from standard vampires on up to a half a dozen Y'rorak demons, which stand twelve feet at the shoulder, move on four tree-trunk-like legs tipped with humanoid fingers and thick, bearlike claws, have hide like an armored truck, the disposition of rabid baboons and an eye-searing orange, purple and electric green pattern of colors on their hides.

Inevitably, one of those was right in front, and it charged a group composed of Judith, Buffy, Aunt Dawn and my Daddy right away.

Unfortunately for it, it roared as it charged. I didn't think, I just jerked an explosive crazy-disc off of the bandolier I wore and flung it on the straightest course I could manage into the thing's open mouth. The disc went off on the roof of the thing's mouth— bye-bye brainpan, hello great beyond.

"Thanks, honey-girl," Daddy called as he drew his European longsword and followed Judith into the battle.

"You're welcome!" I called back as I beheaded a vampire in front of me, then snatched a bone knife thrown by a Miquot demon (they manufacture the things in their bodies, can pull them out of their forearms at will) out of the air and flung it back, getting the thing in the shoulder and at least slowing it down.

"JOCELYN, DUCK!" Joyce Harris yelled, and I dropped into a forward shoulder roll, felt wind from something passing over my head, and stabbed up and backwards from a crouch. I didn't hit anything, but the big, black-skinned, orange-haired demon that looked to be wearing samurai armor did have to jump back to avoid my blade, so that worked out well. It drew its katana up to the high guard position, and I grinned ferociously, jumped forward— and kicked it in the crotch. It folded up neatly, and I beheaded it before calling, "Thanks, Joyce! You and Ian work your way this way!"

I slammed my blade into the gut of a Wendigo (Native American monster, a transformed human who had eaten human flesh— and learned to like it, even crave it). It didn't mind that so much— Wendigos are gaunt and skeletal, look like a human who starved to death and rotted a little before getting back up, so not a lot of gut there— but yowl-roared in anger when I kicked it in the chest and drove it back. It charged back in— and an eagle-feathered dart sailed over my shoulder, sank into it's chest, and caused the whole thing to burst into flames and die.

"Thanks, Aunt Dawn!" I spun to build up momentum for a strike on a Groblod demon— big, heavy things, eight feet tall and built like a weightlifter on his best day— and saw Aunt Dawn grin and wave in response just before my blade cut off the Groblod's left arm just above the elbow and sank into it's chest most of the way to the sternum.

"On your left and back," Joyce called, letting me know she'd come into my sphere of combat.

"Got it, you two watch my back," I replied, since I knew Ian wouldn't leave her side. I went after a pair of vampires that were charging me, and as I did, I heard Ian singing under his breath.

"Hi-diddle-dee-dee, a Zippo's life for me," he sang, and grabbed the shoulder of a second Wendigo that was coming at me from the side. It burst into flame— and I burst out laughing as I killed the second vampire.

"Glad you approve," Ian said as I stepped forward to engage a Chiswinth, which are nasty, seven-foot-tall centaur-like things with tentacles tipped with bony spurs. One of them had almost killed Giles way back in the Battle of Bloomington, only Sara Lamont and Samantha Finn keeping him alive long enough for Uncle Ethan to get there and heal him magically had averted it.

I slashed off the tentacles on one side of the Chiswinth, laid a deep cut down its side (flank?) on that same side, then drove my blade in right behind its rib cage, angling back for the heart, getting a lung, and accepting that as it crumpled.

We worked our way towards the center of the big courtyard ahead of us, and the big circle of plants at the middle of the court, not in a planter, but set in twenty foot cutaway circle the floor, with a little path through the middle of it made of cement discs of various sizes set in the dirt. As we (Joyce and Ian stayed close) moved towards the unhealthy-looking but still-alive mini-jungle (mostly tropical and semi-tropical plants, all having been there for more years than I'd been alive, they were pretty damned big), the bad guys tried to close in behind us— but Piper decided that she didn't like that. She charged in, the big battle axe that had become her preferred weapon making meat of the demons that closed in behind us, and was soon bracketing Joyce and Ian on the other side of me.

"I'm betting that circle would be the gate, right?" Piper panted as she settled into a rhythm of pure destruction. "The nasties seem determined to keep us from it, kind of a clue!"

"Pretty sure you're right," I agreed. "Shall we do a push?"

"It'll be a pain in the butt, even if it is only another thirty feet or so to the path," Piper said. "But, yeah, okay. Push it is. We get there, we can hold it 'til the others catch up."

"I can help, I think," Ian said, sounding nervous but determined. "Something I thought of the night before all this went crazy— haven't tried it, but… let's see if it works."

"I hope it does," Joyce said, and actually giggled as she said it.

Ian grinned at her pun— then his face settled down into a mask of calm determination. The light of the lines that Hope had drawn on Ian's body grew brighter, overwhelming the dim lights of the mall (the power was still on, but only the maintenance lights were on) in just a couple of seconds. He grew still more bright— and monsters near him began to burn without him even touching them. Brighter still, and the light of Hope washed over me, banished my minor aches, pain and fatigue completely, left me feeling fresh as the morning dew— and monsters still farther away started to burn. Suddenly, Ian pulsed really brightly, brightly enough to leave the a man-shaped image drawn in angular lines of bright blue burning on my eyes— and every demon within twenty feet screamed and died, and demons out to forty feet caught on fire.

"Now!" I yelled, and we four charged onto the path. I grabbed one of Joyce's hands as we went, and Piper grabbed onto her shoulder. Ian came after us, and the four of us landed on the cement-disc path—

I felt a sensation vaguely like that of passing from gravity to no-gravity all at once, like when the shuttle engines had stopped when I went up to Asimov Station last summer, a twisting like I'd just stopped a particularly violent spinning Capoeira move— and we four were somewhere else entirely.

We stood in the middle of a thirty-foot-wide, thirty-foot-high cement hallway that ran in two directions. Behind us was a big set of ordinary steel double doors (twenty feet high, most of that wide, but only ordinary steel), ahead of us a great big steel vault-style door veritably bristling with locks— two keypads, one a number pad, the other a standard qwerty keyboard, a pair of combination locks, and a huge spin-knob, like you expect to see on a vault door.

Piper looked at the vault-style door and let out a low whistle before she said, "Holy _crap,_ but I'm glad that Brian decided to teach a course in breaking and entering, right now. That's a seriously locked door, Jocelyn, and it'll take a while to get past all those locks."

"Get to it," I said. "We don't know how long we have, but it can't be long.

"Ian, Joyce, we watch her back. Ian, are you okay?"

"I'm good," Ian said, gulping air. The lines of Hope had sunk back to their usual brightness on his body, but not gotten any dimmer than usual. "I won't be doing a pulse like that again anytime soon, but I'm good."

"Okay, and good job," I said. "Good job both of you— Joyce, you're awfully good for someone who's only had the Slayer power for a few months, kiddo."

They both thanked me, and I stood and waited for the others to arrive or Piper to open the door— and I tried not to think about what might happen if the others didn't arrive before we got the door open. I could lead, sure— but I didn't want the big, heavy part of the mission to go down without Buffy here.

I stood and I waited— and I wondered about what was happening both up in the mall and farther up on Asimov Station while we fought down here.


	44. Battle On High

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 44: Battle On High

_Interlude: Eastland Mall, Above Ground:_

Buffy saw Ian Matthias flare a bright, brilliant blue, the lines of the Power Hope flaring brighter than she'd ever seen before— and monsters all around the little group of him, Joyce, Piper and Jocelyn started burning, screaming, and (those who didn't burn up completely) staggering away from the mini-jungle that apparently held the entrance to Catherine Madison's underground lair.

_Holy crap,_ she thought. _Okay, that's… impressive. I'm glad he's sticking with Joyce_.

Then Jocelyn yelled, "Now!" and she, Joyce, Ian and Piper leapt onto the concrete-disc path through the mini jungle—

—and vanished in a flash of blue light.

"Joyce!" Buffy cried, entirely without meaning to.

The blue light— Catherine Madison seemed to have a thing for the color blue— flashed again, all around them— and suddenly, Buffy and Judith were the only actual Slayers in an area crammed to overflowing with demons, vampires, werewolves, tattoo-covered wizards, and other monsters in more variety than Buffy could even begin to count.

"REGROUP!" Buffy shouted. "ON ME, MOVE, MOVE!"

Dawn wasn't far away, and she reached Buffy's side in three long strides (and two swipes of the Guardian Blade). "Cover me, Buffy, I can help clear some of these things away— but I need a few seconds!"

Judith Holmes appeared on Dawn's other side, pale, frightened, but with a set to her mouth that said she was in control of her fear. "I have this side," she said, and turned to face a bunch of incoming vampires, a saber in one hand, a stake in the other. Buffy put her back to Dawn and Judith, hefted the Scythe and growled, "Come on, then!" to a Gleven, a tall, slender, almost elven demon that glowed with a pale green light.

The Gleven smiled, extended three-inch-long claws from the tips of its fingers— and leapt at Buffy. It hit the ground in four pieces a split second later as Buffy, with timing born of years of experience, sidestepped and swung the Scythe through its arm, its neck, and its other arm, in that order.

The whole time Buffy was doing this, Dawn was chanting, and Buffy had time to glance back and see that her sister was holding what looked like a steel Frisbee with sections cut out of it to make it a spell-delivery vehicle, like Dawn often did with ordinary plastic Frisbees, and engraved where she might have drawn on a plastic version.

"_Ahn ah rhiay, ahn ah leevaht, ahn ah VAY!"_ Dawn finished— and threw the steel disc hard, aiming at the demon— a Disfen, sort of a humanoid badger with fangs so big they were more like tusks— farthest from her that she had a straight shot at.

The disc flew straight, cut the Disfen's head off neatly— then flew on faster, curved slightly, and cut the head off of a vampire and accelerated _more_ before jogging neatly around a START soldier and cutting the head off of something that Buffy didn't recognize, basically human shaped, but with an over-large head and skin the color of the heart of a ripe watermelon.

The disc kept going, dodging neatly around the members of Team Slayer and START, and it killed a good four dozen demons, speeding up after each target, before seemingly melting from air friction between beheading a vampire and heading to its next target, a were-tiger.

The confusion it sowed was sufficient, though, and everyone got to the area immediately around Buffy— or almost everyone. Two START soldiers died before they could get there, resulting in grim looks on the faces of their fellow soldiers.

Buff looked at her sister, saw that Dawn was panting, sweating— and grinning.

"It worked," Dawn said, smiling a hard smile and mopping sweat from her brow. "Let's see Chantelle or Jocelyn do _that_ with a crazy disc!"

"Are you quite all right?" Judith asked, noting the sweat and that Dawn was breathing hard.

"Fine," Dawn assured her, and took a deep breath. "Just took a lot of energy to do that— not enough to burn me out or turn me dark, but… a lot."

"Don't overdo it," Buffy cautioned. "Never know when we'll need you to drop a house on a wicked witch or something."

"I'll be careful," Dawn said, smiling a little, "if you will."

"Deal." Buffy looked around and said, "Okay, everyone— slow push for the jungle spot! Don't hurry, look out for each other, and remember to look up— some of these things can walk on walls and ceilings."

It was not a pleasant trip, nor was it short. The kids had been gone for more than ten minutes when the mixed group of Team Slayer and START members reached the edge of the miniature jungle, still fighting the monsters that seemed to be coming from every part of the abandoned mall, coming in wave after wave that never seemed to let up.

They reached the edge, found that the monsters and demons seemingly had no interest in stepping on the concrete path. Buffy stepped towards it— and stopped as light flashed, a brilliant, clear, white light, not the trademark blue of Catherine Madison's magic.

When the light cleared, four people stood on the concrete path, three men and a teenaged girl— and only the girl didn't look alarmed and confused.

"What the hell just happened?" asked one of the men, a handsome man of thirty-five or so who, while a bit above average height and built well, seemed almost small compared to the big, solid man behind him. He brushed the brown duster he wore back, revealing a rather odd-looking handgun in a holster on his hip. "Doc, was this your sister?"

(Also, he reminded Buffy of someone, but the who wouldn't come, only that he resembled someone she'd known— and hadn't liked.)

"I didn't do anything," the girl said, her voice calm. She looked small, slender, and maybe seventeen or so. Her long, dark hair hung in waves down her back, and swayed gently as she shook her head. "I told you, all the worlds are getting crossed up. It isn't me, it's the witch-woman."

"Lady, duck!" the big man snarled, and raised his weapon— a rifle of some sort, though Buffy had never seen one like it— and pointed it at something behind Buffy. As Buffy bent at the waist, he shot, firing from the hip (if he'd raised the weapon to his shoulder, Buffy wouldn't have needed to duck at all), making a surprisingly mellow bang, and something screamed, made a noise like fluttering cloth, and hit the ground. The man lowered his rifle and said, "Sure hope that weren't nobody's _pet_ flying monster."

"This," the slender, handsome man next to the girl— they resembled each other enough that Buffy decided they were brother and sister— said in a morose voice, "is what it feels like to go insane. I remember the feeling."

"Listen, you're not crazy, you're not— oh, holy shit, I know who you are!" Buffy smacked her own forehead, then called, "Xander! Honey, am I crazy, or are these folks—?"

"Malcolm Reynolds!?" Xander said, moving through the group to get closer. "Holy— worlds are getting crossed again, Buffy.

"Captain Reynolds, I'm Xander Harris and this is my wife, Buffy. We're… look, it's kind of a battle, right now, as you can see. If you don't want to weigh in, we'll understand— but we could use the help."

Mal Reynolds— Buffy shivered suddenly, and realized that the man looked a lot like Caleb, the psychotic preacher who'd been assisting the First Evil back in the last days of Sunnydale— looked around briefly, then sighed. "Them ain't natural creatures you're fighting— so I'm gonna go with my gut and decide you're the good guys.

"Jayne! Do what Mr. Harris tells you."

"Actually, Buffy's in charge," Xander said hastily.

"Jayne, do what _Mrs._ Harris—"

"Aw, come on, Mal— don't make me follow no girl's orders!" the big man whined.

"Hey!" Buffy said. She decided to settle that problem immediately, and reached out and grabbed this Jayne person by the belt and lifted him over her head with one hand. "You've got a big mouth for a man with a girl's name!"

Jayne gulped once, stared down at Buffy for a long second— then said in a mild voice, "So, where do you want me, ma'am?"

"With that gun?" Buffy said, setting Jayne down. "Anywhere you can see to take out the flying things— they're new, and they could be a problem."

"Oh, good— a challenge," Jayne said, and moved to the edge of the concrete path, hefting the big rifle to his shoulder.

"You got wounded, the Doc here's about the best in the 'verse," Mal Reynolds went on. "He ain't much in a fight— but his sister you got to see to believe."

"Mal, I don't want River fighting," the doctor said immediately.

"It's okay, Simon." The girl River smiled a little and said, "These things aren't _nearly_ as scary as Reavers.

"Can someone spare me a weapon?"

"River Tam, you're not—" Simon started.

"Jayne, look out!" River cried, and took a single running step at the big man, jumped up and used his shoulders as a vaulting horse, and kicked the incoming Thevev demon that had dived towards him from his blind side in the face. The demon's neck broke, and it's wings folded forward to cover Jayne and River for a second before the girl shoved the corpse away and stood up holding the heavy longsword it had been about to cleave Jayne's skull with.

"Never mind," River said, her voice almost cheerful. "I have a weapon now."

"I'll be damned," Jayne said, looking at the girl and smirking a little. "Guess maybe I could learn to like you after all."

There was a bang, and Jayne jumped and looked around wildly, saw Mal Reynolds standing with his pistol extended and pointed at a spot just past Jayne— where a vampire was getting to its feet, shaking its head and snarling with pain over the hole in its forehead.

"Huh." Reynolds looked puzzled and said, "Got back up after a bullet to the head. There's somethin' you don't see every day.

"Jayne, make nice with River later," Malcolm Reynolds said as River leaned around Jayne and beheaded the vampire that Mal had shot, causing it to dust, which caused him to shake his head and looked exasperated. "Doc, she's gonna fight, and you know as well as I do that can't neither one of us make her stop. So just… do what you can to help these people, and let's get this over with so maybe we can get back home."

Buffy stared in open admiration as the girl— River Tam, that was her name— waded into the ground-fighting demons that came for her and Jayne Cobb, moving with a balletic grace that left Buffy thinking of Elaine Marshall, and she smiled. The way the girl used the sword she'd confiscated added a little bit of Rose to the reminding….

River's brother watched for a moment, then heard a START soldier call "Medic! Stimson's hurt bad!" and went that way, moving with surprising speed and grace, ignoring the chaos around him completely.

Buffy called Dawn over and asked, "Why isn't the gate to the underground complex working any more?"

"It… may have been a one-use gate, Buffy," Dawn said, sounding unhappy. "I can't see any other reason why it would have failed."

"Can you force it open?" Buffy tried very hard not to think of her daughter being trapped down in Catherine Madison's underground fortress with the crazy witch and the Powers That Be only knew how many monsters— and Warren-bots— and knew by the shakiness of her voice that she'd failed.

"I can try, Buffy… but I don't know." Dawn shook her head a little and said, "Catherine's powerful, maybe more powerful than Amy, if she can do a black-as-midnight spell like the Ritual of the Gaping Way on an equinox instead of at or near winter solstice.

"I'll do what I can, Buffy, short of going into the Dark."

"Thank you," Buffy said, her voice low and shaky. "Thanks, Dawn. You'll need cover?"

"Lots of it." Dawn sat on the edge of the concrete path and started pulling stuff out of her spell bag.

"Judith!" Buffy called, and a moment later the newest member of the Original Line Slayers appeared by her side, breathing a little hard, wearing a single bruise on her cheek, but otherwise none the worse for wear. "Judith, Dawn's going to try to get us a way into Catherine's complex, down to where Joyce, Jocelyn, Ian and Piper are. She'll be focusing on her magic, not defending herself— and if any of the demons recognize that she's trying to get to the place they're defending, they may come for her."

"They'll not get at her," Judith said promptly. "I'll see to that— you get on the front lines, they need your experience.

"Giles! I shall need your help here, please!"

"I'll help, too," said a girl's voice right behind them— and Buffy, who didn't have a lot of experience with being snuck up on, jumped, spun, and landed facing the girl River, who was now splattered with several different colors of demon blood, but otherwise looked calm, cool and collected. "Jayne and Mal are working together, they really don't need me, and… this is about girls. Like me. So I'll help here. If we can hold them until the one that burns can see what she needs to do, see the connection and how to use it, it'll all be okay. The witch woman, she can be talked down— if the one on fire can get to her, make her see."

"How do you— no, never mind." Buffy took a deep breath and said, "Judith Holmes, this is River Tam. She'll help you cover Dawn."

"As will I," said Giles, now standing next to Judith. "What would you have of me, Judith?"

"I don't know monsters as well as a Slayer should, Giles— yet," Judith said, stepping forward and nudging aside the two START soldiers who were currently between Dawn and the incoming waves of monsters. "I shall need you to coach me through killing these… things."

"Done," Giles said smartly. He glanced at Buffy, smiled a little, and tilted his head towards the thick of the battle. "They need you out there, Buffy."

"On it." She took a deep breath, looked at the two young women who were going to protect Dawn while she tried to find a way to get to Joyce and the others and said, simply, "Thank you. All of you."

Then Buffy turned and charged into the battle.

She had barely done so when a man appeared in the very middle of the concrete path, halfway between Giles and Captain Reynolds, appeared out of nowhere and with only a minor displacement of air to herald his arrival. However, that was enough to alert Giles, who spun and raised his longsword to menace the man.

The new arrival, a big man, muscular, and wearing what looked to be almost a Renaissance outfit of black, gray and silver, raised his hands and said, "I'm here to help, sir— again."

Giles looked carefully at the man, noted the facial resemblance to a thirtyish Timothy Dalton, the boxer's build, the sword on his hip, and frowned. Then he remembered the footage from the Law and Justice Center in downtown Bloomington on the day of the Battle of Bloomington, and how irritated Whitey had been at not getting a chance to meet this man and his family. Giles's encyclopedic memory kicked in, and he nodded slowly and said, "Prince Corwin of Amber, I believe?"

"Oh, hey, a fan," the man said, smiling a little.

"Not in and of myself," Giles admitted. "However, I have a colleague here who very much is, and was furious that he did not get to meet you and your family during our last catastrophe.

"As I recall, you… Amberites, I believe Whitey calls you— you were instrumental in driving off the demons that assaulted the Law and Justice Center, last time. We could certainly use your help again— but if you could move off the path before bringing any of your family through via your own methods, it would help." At Corwin's raised eyebrow, Giles indicated Dawn, sitting cross-legged and making a circle around herself, ignoring everything else. "My daughter is trying to help us open a way to some young people who may well be in over their heads— including my goddaughter and my granddaughter. I would not see her disturbed."

"Understood," Corwin of Amber replied. He looked over his shoulder and said to the air, "Let me get clear of the young lady's working, Random, then I'll start— oh, hey, good idea." Corwin looked back at Giles and said, "One person coming now— our best sorceress, she may be able to help your daughter."

"That would be appreciated, y— good lord!" Giles stared in amazement as Corwin held out his hand, and suddenly a simply _gorgeous_ woman appeared holding it, seeming two-dimensional at first, but rapidly becoming three dimensional.

The newcomer might have been an inch over five feet tall, but if so, only barely. Long, flowing red hair had been pulled back in a ponytail, framing fine, delicate features highlighted by brilliant green eyes. She wore a simple, Chinese-influenced, martial arts-style outfit in green, lavender and purple— and Giles could not help but be reminded of his daughter Rose, though she, at least, would never wear _any_ shade of purple. The woman looked around, saw Dawn and the beginnings of her circle, and moved to a place where she could see what Dawn was doing, stood, and watched silently.

"My sister, the Princess Fiona," Corwin said. "I didn't get your name, sir."

"Rupert Giles, head of the Watcher's Council," Giles replied, taking the other man's offered hand, then nodding at the woman when she looked up and flashed him a quick smile. "Just call me Giles, please. My daughter— not by blood, but my daughter nonetheless— is Dawn Innes, the young lady with the braid is Judith Holmes, and her smaller helper is, I believe, named River.

"Your Highness—"

"Oh, please, just Fiona." The woman quirked a smile his way without ever taking her eyes off of Dawn.

"Fiona, we do appreciate the assistance. Things are… quite grave."

"Yes, they are," Fiona agreed, still watching Dawn. "You can tell— we had to get involved. When one shadow merits the attention of the Royal Family of Amber twice in less than twenty years local, less than ten years Amber-time?

"Yes, things are dire."

"Fi, I'm going to move off and bring the others through," Corwin said. She nodded, and he turned to Giles. "Listen, I, at least, will stick around after this is over, this time— so I can meet your colleague. Wouldn't want him feeling like he missed out twice, that would have to suck."

Giles chuckled a little, nodded, and turned his attention back to River and Judith, who were turning out to be quite the fighting pair.

"Judith, the blue-gray beast slogging it's way towards you is a Welmacre demon," he called, just loud enough to be sure that Judith heard him. "Its only real weakness is its heart, which is just above its navel. (I've never understood why those things don't wear armor or shirts, the idiots, but it's to our advantage.)

"River, the tall, white-skinned creature behind the party of vampires you're engaging is a Farfelen— it is bitterly cold to the touch, will cause frostbite at the minimum if it touches you. Chop off any limbs it extends towards you, then behead it— it has no vital organs as we understand the term, but beheading will kill it."

Giles stood between the pairs of Judith and River and Dawn and Fiona, and did what he did better than any other man alive— informed those under his charge of how best to beat the creatures that attacked them.

Around him, just outside the circle of plants, other people appeared one at a time next to Prince Corwin, mostly men, and waded into the fight. A man in shining white plate mail that appeared to be made of ceramic or porcelain rather than metal. A tall, slender man in orange, yellow and brown who wore no armor at all, but wielded a long sword in each hand and moved so fast that no enemy seemed able to hit him. A redheaded, smiling man in leather armor of orange and red, a saber in one hand and a buckler in the other, danced in and out among the crowd of monsters, laughing as they fell beneath his blade. Prince Corwin fought sided-by-side with a slightly younger man who looked much like him, even dressed similarly. A small, smirking man in red, orange and brown with a huge ruby hanging from a chain around his neck stood behind that pair, tossing around magic as casually as Jocelyn and Chantelle did their various missile weapons. A huge, powerful man (who bore some notable resemblance to Vincent Chandler) fought beside a tall, slender blond woman who wore pastel orange, yellow and white, and had some discoloration of the skin for some diameter around her right eye— it appeared to be a series of red lines, and Giles wondered in the back of his mind if it were some sort of tattoo…. A blond woman in a riding dress of green and gray used a saber and poniard combination with great (and sometimes brutal) efficiency. Lastly, another woman in a more practical outfit— she could have been ready to play Hamlet, in her green, lavender and gray tunic, doublet and hose— stood near her and added her own magics to the other woman's bladed assault. Her hair was as green as the lining of her short cloak, and her skin had an olive cast to it, more truly green than Giles had ever seen….

Regardless— though these "Amberites" were definitely helping, his first duty was to Judith and, because she was helping, River.

"Judith, the creature approaching you is not, despite appearances, a werewolf. It is a werecoyote, and can be killed by simple beheading…."

The monsters came on— and the battle continued.

_**88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888**_

_Interlude: Asimov Station, Inboard_

Rose Killian, her reflexes already adapted to the thirty-three percent gravity of Asmiov Station again— Slayers adapt quickly and it hadn't been that long since she was last here— took advantage of her superior knowledge of the environment and used the powerful kick she'd just delivered to the stomach of a Hurkulpo demon (huge, purple, ogre-like monsters) to launch herself, blade-first, at a critter that made her think of Godzilla, only on a much smaller scale. The lizard-looking demon was "only" not quite ten feet tall, and Rose used the kick-off to get her sword shoved through its lower jaw— and then its braincase.

She hit the ground and Elaine spun past her, moving in something that was half the ginga of Capoeira, half a balletic pirouette, the blade of the spear she held slashing multiple times through the Hurkulpo that Rose had just used as a springboard. The last of those slashes went across the demon's throat, and it sank to the ground, dying as blood fountained from the wound.

"Nice," Rose murmured as her first love whirled deeper into the melee, her spear damaging or discombobulating every demon she passed and could reach. She spun her sword in one hand as she turned back to the melee herself, waded in and chopped the head off of a vampire that was menacing Vincent from behind. He called his thanks casually as Rose moved deeper into the furball and found herself approaching the team of Faith and Ballard.

Faith's style— wilder and more untamed than most Slayers, much like the way Sh'rin fought, come to notice— meshed well with Ballard's more controlled but still frenetic Capoeira, and the two of them seemed to be in no danger at all. Past them, near the outer bulkhead of the station, Chantelle and Sh'rin worked together, the Guardian from the past mixing magic, martial arts and swordplay— she had replaced the Guardian's blade with a non-magical one that replicated its look and feel— to protect Chantelle while the blond Slayer used her nearly uncanny ranged combat skills to thin the enemy numbers, firing arrows occasionally from the over-sized quiver that she wore on her back, tossing crazy discs and knives from the twin bandoliers she wore, using the short sword she carried when anything got close to her.

Willow and Starpulse hadn't caught up with the rest of the group yet, but— no, there was Willow, drifting out of the nearby spoke entry that led to back to the station's hub. She looked around, shook her head in exasperation, and did… something magical. Rose followed Willow's eyes, saw a small magical gate over on the wall away from the fight— and saw it close around the head of the Gotlak demon that had stuck its head through to look around, killing the beast neatly. Willow nodded in satisfaction, then started looking around for anything else that could use her magical touch.

As Rose spun back into the fray, she saw a man from Station Security approaching from back along the hall, hugging the inner bulkhead. He caught her gaze and waved, and she nodded and cleared the enemies immediately around her, glanced around, saw that no one needed reinforcements, and ran to the man, who wordlessly handed her one of the station-safe cell phones that security used. She put it to her ear and said hello— and Starpulse spoke rapidly from the other end.

"Listen and don't interrupt, I don't have the time," Starpulse said. "Warren has a backup plan in place, and—"

_**88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888**_

_Interlude: Asimov Station, Outboard, three minutes before:_

Starpulse melted the last of the space stations retrorockets, having gone ahead and destroyed them all because he didn't know their capabilities— it might be that with even one intact retro, Warren could push the station out of orbit, send it crashing to Earth, killing everyone aboard, and no telling how many on the ground.

_That was a bitch,_ he thought as he began looking for a smaller, personnel-friendly airlock. _My power's lower than I like, even if Willow does think I'm probably at least a _little_ more likely to stay here than be jerked back to my own universe if I run dry now_. _I'm below twenty percent— looks like I fight hand-to-hand from here on out— unless I can get one of the station security guys to give me a gun_.

He started moving against the station's clockwise rotation so that he'd cover the outside area faster, stayed maybe fifty feet away from the station itself. He passed a porthole on the side of the station, saw an airlock another seventy or eighty yards down— and braked to a halt, flew back to the porthole he'd passed, staying well out from the thing, so it wasn't likely he'd be seen out here. In space, the new costume that Jocelyn and Kelly had provided him was, effectively, camouflage, which was a very good thing right now if—

He lined up with the porthole, looked inside— and cursed as he counted at least seven Warren-bots in the room the porthole looked into.

When he'd first activated his powers, he'd learned that his vision wasn't limited to what ordinary humans thought of as "the visible spectrum" any longer, and he now shifted into the heat spectrum— and saw what he'd been afraid of.

Each of the Warren-bots that he could see had a spot of intense heat— approaching two hundred degrees, rising rapidly— at the same spot on its body, an inch and a half or so below the belt— not a place that anyone would target as a "vulnerable area" normally, as it was above the area commonly thought of as the groin, but below the stomach.

_That's where I'd put a power source, if I were going to design myself a robot body, dammit!_ Starpulse thought— and he accelerated for the airlock he'd spotted before, stopped in front of it, heaved a sigh of relief (his body produced a force field seemingly on its own when he entered low atmospheric pressure, and somehow provided air for him) as he saw a security man start the lock cycling for him to enter.

As soon as the airlock and station pressure equalized and the inner door opened, Starpulse said, "I need to speak to Rose Killian _right now_— it's an emergency involving station safety!"

The man neither hesitated nor asked questions, he simply pulled his cell phone and made a fast call. After a moment, he said, "Anyone close to the group from Designation Hammer, get to them and get Rose Killian's attention— she's small, redheaded, uses a sword. This is an emergency, her teammate Starpulse needs to talk to her ASAP."

With that, the man handed the phone to Starpulse and looked expectantly at him.

"Follow me, stay behind me," Starpulse said as he listened for Rose to speak— nothing yet, though he was beginning to hear the sounds of a melee. "When I stop at a door, if it's one you can override, do— and then get out of the way. Multiple robots in the room, and I think their power sources are on overload."

The man paled, but nodded— and from the phone, Starpulse heard Rose say "Hello?"

"Listen and don't interrupt, I don't have the time," Starpulse said. "Warren has a backup plan in place, and I'm on my way to stop him. He's got multiple bodies in a room on the outboard side of the station near— where are we?"

The security man answered, and Starpulse said, "Near the emergency airlock at radius one-zero-five, back somewhere between that and the big lock at radius ninety

"I'm going to stop him, Rose, and I don't know if there's time to wait for you, even for Willow if she flies— and I'm dangerously low on power."

"Starpulse, you wait for—" Rose started.

"Don't!" he snapped. "Don't waste the time, I don't have much before we're there!

"If I do have to drain my reserves, you tell Jocelyn, Piper and Judith that I love them, and that I will find a way back! I don't know how soon, but _I will come back to them!_ Promise me you'll tell them, Rose!"

A fraction of a second of hesitation, then Rose said, "I'll tell them, Colin. Good luck— and I'd _better_ see you soon!"

"Here's hoping," Starpulse muttered, and broke off the call. He handed the security man back his phone and they arrived at the door in question.

As the man started working to override the door— which didn't open as it should have when the man swiped his security badge— Starpulse asked "What's the melting point of the interior bulkheads, do you know?"

"The bulkheads are a titanium-steel alloy with— well, a lot of other stuff," the man told him. "Won't melt before about 1925 degrees Celsius." At Starpulse's small frown, the man sighed and said, "Around 3500 degrees Fahrenheit."

"Good, thanks." Starpulse took a deep breath and said, "I warn you— I'm going to go straight to producing about three thousand degrees Fahrenheit. You might want to stay back from the door."

"There's a porthole in there," the man advised, holding a wire in each hand and looking up at Starpulse. "It may blow at those temps, if you stay there for any length of time. That happens, I'll have to let the door close."

"Understood," Starpulse said. He took a deep breath. "Hope this works.

"Open it."

"Good luck, sir," the security man said— and touched the two wires together.

The doors opened, Starpulse flew in, and grinned as he realized that the Warren-bots were seated in two neat rows of six along the outer bulkhead— and he didn't waste time talking, didn't give them the chance to attack him, or hurry the overload cycle that he was pretty sure they were locked into.

His hands lanced out, fingers straight (he held them fists-closed for concussion beams, fingers-extended for heat beams— it was an excellent mental shortcut), and took his heat beams to around forty percent— close to three thousand degrees, as close as he could get without a lot of time and concentration and building up to it slowly— immediately, did what he could to keep the heat contained, not allow it to spread too widely, even though that took more power.

He aimed directly at the power sources on the Warren-bots nearest him, front row left and right middle— and the beams lanced through them immediately, as well as the two behind them, and the power sources all four stopped working. Starpulse grinned, swept his hands outward, and found that the rest of the robots had activated force fields of some sort. His beams were eating through the fields, but the subtle whine coming from the Warren-bots had started to cycle up and grow louder more quickly than before.

"Damn it," Starpulse said softly— and increased the power, taking it to forty-five percent of maximum output, then to fifty, with part of the power output being used to contain the heat as tightly as possible. He dropped to the floor to preserve even the tiny bit of power that flying cost him as his power reserves, once things that seemed to replenish as fast as he used them, dropped alarmingly— and swiftly. "Burn already, would you, you mismatched mess of mechanical men!?"

Four more went, and Starpulse swept his hands out to nail the last four— and kicked the power output up to sixty percent as the robots began to glow in the visible spectrum. Their force fields were wearing away, he could see that— but not fast enough.

_Please, if anybody's listening, let this work, let me stop them before they kill a whole bunch of people!_ he thought— and cranked the power output to eighty percent, the maximum he could use and still contain the heat in the beams to any degree.

Starpulse's beams punched through the force fields of the front pair of Warren-bots, then though the back pair, all four collapsed to the floor, inert— and before he could turn the beams off, they shut off by themselves.

Starpulse felt a horrible cold sensation at the center of his being as he ran out of power—

—and he vanished from the room without so much as a flash of light.


	45. Flint and Steel

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 45: Flint and Steel

_Jocelyn:_

I glanced back and forth between the double steel doors behind us and the big, bank-vault-style door that Piper was examining, and I bit my lip to keep from telling Piper to hurry. She knew the situation, she wouldn't dawdle— but that door was freaking quadruple-locked with two spin-dial combination locks, a number pad, and a qwerty keyboard controlling the various locks. I couldn't open any of them, so hurrying the specialist trained in it would be seven kinds of stupid. Or more.

But I really did have to bite my lip. I didn't like this setup, didn't like the time constraints we were on— and couldn't even be sure of, we had no idea when Catherine Madison had started her attempt at the Ritual of the Gaping Way, how long it would take her, if the results would be instantaneous once she did complete the ritual. Would there be a building-up of forces, could we still stop the Hellmouth she was attempting to open here from opening once she finished the spell, or would it be "spell done, Hellmouth open, good-bye world?"

"I don't like this," Joyce Harris said quietly. She was behind me, on my left, between me and Piper at the big door. "Why aren't there monsters attacking, trying to stop Piper from opening that door?"

"Hey, don't jinx us!" Ian said from behind my right shoulder.

"She's right, though," I sighed. "I don't like it either, Joyce. It's like the Madison woman is… letting us get this close, and that can't be good."

"Guys, I've almost got this first lock," Piper called. "I'm on what I think is the last tumbler… got—"

Blue light flashed, I mentally kicked myself in the ass— and monsters appeared between the big double doors at the end of the hall and us, maybe fifty creatures in I don't know how many types.

"Crap!" I snarled, pulling my sword. "Open a lock, trigger a trap, just like upstairs!"

"Hang on, I—" Piper started.

"We've got it, keep working!" I ordered. "No _time,_ Piper, just keep working!"

The first of the monsters reached me, then, a Ba'an demon, built like Arnold Schwarzenegger's bigger brother, covered in short, spiky blue hair that felt like needles if you hit it with bare flesh (or cloth, or even leather armor, if it wasn't thick leather), and too darned quick for something so big.

But my feet were adequately covered. I jumped in, did a replacement sidekick, packing all my mass and magically-enhanced muscle into the kick, and sent it flying back into the front rank of demons behind it, causing three or four to roar in pain.

Then I pulled an explosive crazy disc off of my bandolier and flung it at the Ba'an even as I backpedaled, arms outstretched to push Joyce and Ian back behind me.

We got bowled back by the blast, all three of us, and Joyce— the smallest of us all— landed barely six inches from Piper's feet.

"Neat." Ian bounced to his feet. "That took out a _bunch_ of them, Jocelyn, cool."

Then he charged down the hall, glowing blue, his staff held across his chest, and leapt at the front couple of surviving monsters as they staggered to their feet. He caught both with his staff, and the three of them knocked down the several demons that were just standing.

"Your boyfriend," I said to Joyce as we charged in after him, "is crazy. Or too damned brave for his own good."

"Both, probably," Joyce said— and she leapt over Ian's now-crouching body, planted a jumping sidekick in the chest of the big, pissy werewolf that was just reaching its feet, knocked it back and down, landed right in front of Ian, and started punching the hell out of a Wendigo that was reaching for him.

"Well, then," I muttered as I waded into the trio of vampires on Ian's left, sword spinning in tight arcs around my body, "you two are a perfect match for each other!"

We killed a lot of demons before one of them— a Gleven, which are almost too _pretty_ to be demons (they look like D&D elves)— suddenly did the unexpected, and did it too fast for any of us to react.

It had been fighting Joyce very cautiously, retreating before her kicks and slashes (she'd drawn the light longsword she favored) letting her drive it to the wall—

—and suddenly, it swept aside Joyce's walk-up front kick _hard,_ wrapped its arms around her as she landed with her back to it, and cried "GOT HER!"

The wall maybe a foot and a half to the Gleven's left slid open, a six-by-ten foot section sliding into the ceiling, and I had time to see that the section that had opened was at _least_ six inches thick before the damned elf-wannabe-demon managed to duck through the opening in the wall— which closed behind it before Ian or I could even get close.

"JOYCE!" Ian cried, even as I slammed into the wall at least a half a second too late.

There was a click from overhead, and Warren's voice said, in a tone so filled with glee that he was laughing around his words, "Thanks, kids— you made my best revenge happen _just_ how I want it!"

I screamed in pure frustration— and something hit me from behind, slammed me into the wall hard enough to knock almost all the wind out of me.

I turned to face the humanoid-triceratops-thing that had hit me, slammed my sword into its throat, and stayed where I was, marking the place where Buffy's daughter had disappeared the only way I could right now, and trying to think of a way to get her back— before Warren killed her.

_**88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888**_

_In the Trap:_

Joyce froze when she heard Warren talking, listened to his words and realized how much trouble she might be in. At that point, instincts that came with the Slayer power kicked in— and Joyce Summers rammed her head backwards with all of her strength, just as the Gleven bent to set her on the floor. Her head impacted with the demon's face hard enough to break bones, and it let go of her. Immediately, she spun, slashed its throat with the light longsword she carried, and as it fell to the floor and bled out, she examined her surroundings.

Twenty foot by twenty foot room, ceiling ten feet high and made of the same metal as the walls, a simple metal door on each of the walls that weren't the one she'd been pulled through to get here.

"Hi there!" came Warren's voice from a speaker overhead. "My name is Warren, and I'll be your Dungeon Master tonight. Here are the rules, kiddo (and all rules will go into effect after I recite Rule Number Six):

"First rule: One minute in a room, then I fill it with poison gas. Takes about thirty seconds to reach the point where you'll go unconscious, but you'll suffer ill effects before then, so I wouldn't dawdle, if I were you.

"Second rule: No going back, only forward.

"Third rule: No incapacitating. You have to kill a creature before you move on.

"Fourth rule: Every five rooms you make it through, I'll add five seconds to the timer before I start the gas. This is cumulative, so at ten rooms, you get a minute and ten seconds before the gas starts a minute and fifteen at fifteen rooms, etc, etc.

"Fifth rule…." Warren's voice trailed off, and Joyce could practically _see_ the smirk on his face as he said. "Every five rooms you make it through, I will decrease my body's power generator's output by ten percent. Cumulative, and I won't cheat.

"Sixth and final rule: If you make it through twenty-five rooms without dying, you get to fight me— I'll be at fifty percent power, so only a little stronger than you, and utterly unable to use any of my morphing abilities.

"One minute timer starts… now.

"I'd wish you luck, but I'd be lying to you!"

Joyce hesitated for a moment, then started for the door to her left, thinking to stay close to the wall that she'd come through, just in case she could find a way back to the hallway, back to Ian, Jocelyn and Piper.

She took two steps towards that door, saw movement out of the corner of her eye, over by the door that had been straight across from her, and spun that way.

What she saw was so completely impossible that she simply stood and stared, and never mind the time before Warren released poison gas into the room she was in.

_**88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888**_

_Another Earth:_

Starpulse felt cold and dizzy, then he felt himself drop a few inches to a floor in one full gravity, and before he could so much as look around—

—POWER flooded him, his own, familiar power, slammed into him so fast that he gasped in surprise, filled him to full as quickly as though he were in his home dimension—

"Starpulse!?"

—because he _was_ in his home dimension.

He knew that electronically filtered voice, and when he looked around, he recognized the incredibly high-tech lab that he stood in, so he wasn't surprised when he spun around and saw Cyber Knight, with _Jason_— no Armsman, he was in costume— standing beside him and staring.

"I— what the hell, the portal generator is on standby!" Cyber Knight gasped. "I didn't do anything, Armsman, I didn't!"

"He's right!" Starpulse said, and very carefully didn't move. "He didn't do this, Armsman— I ran out of power, and that's why— look, my friends, they're in danger back there, there's no time to explain!

"Knight, can you send me back? Right to where I vanished from? Now!?"

"Pretty sure, yeah," Cyber Knight said, his voice calm and confident. "Dude, with the portal on standby, that means— well, it recorded the transit, so I know right where you came from. We were getting ready to send you a package, and— no, never mind.

"Hey, you said there's trouble— can you use some more backup? I'll come along, and I don't even need to ask Armsman."

"Can you get back?" Starpulse asked, even as he saw a familiar look on Jason's face, a look that said he was looking forward to a fight. "Both of you?"

"Piece of cake," Cyber Knight said. "We'll get pulled back buy our natural frequency within, oh, a maximum of ten hours or so, minimum of three, maybe. If your witch-friend is right, anyway, since my power source is artificial, and Jason's is internal, unlike that weird para-spatial-wormhole thing you've got that connects you to… whatever."

"Then, yes!" Starpulse said. "Please, both of you!"

"Armsman, go stand next to Starpulse, on his… left, yes." Cyber Knight looked at the console before him, then looked to one side, picked up a small taped-closed box and said, "Oh— here, catch."

Armsman grinned, caught the box and handed it to Starpulse, said, "Put that in a pocket— pouch pocket should hold it."

Once Starpulse had done as asked, Armsman grabbed his friend and hugged him fiercely. "It's good to see you, 'Pulse, damned good. I wish things hadn't had to get dangerous for it to happen— but I'll take it.

"What are we facing, anyway?"

"Good question," Cyber Knight agreed as he adjusted the settings of the interdimensional transporter that he'd designed. "Monsters and such, like Armsman said were common where you're living now?"

"Yes," Colin said, nodding. "Pretty much a bunch of pissy demons, maybe some robots, though I think I got all of those.

"If it doesn't look human, beat the shit out of it— kill it, if you can without feeling bad, this is not a case of 'human bad guy, can be reformed,' you know?"

Cyber Knight finished his settings, flipped a switch, and somewhere, a generator shifted into high gear, its nearly-unnoticed low-pitched whine cycling higher (reminding Starpulse uncomfortably of the Warren-bots cycling up their generators). Cyber Knight came and stood on the opposite side of Starpulse from Armsman and said, "Got it, no problem— I always did like the Castlevania games, even the antiques from, what, the late eighties?

"It'll be a blast to kill some monsters for real!"

Before Starpulse or Armsman could even sigh at the techno-hero's geeky exuberance, there was a flash of light— and they dropped into the room that Starpulse had vanished out of a couple of minutes before, startling the hell out of the Station Security man who'd come in to see what had happened to Starpulse.

The security man jumped backwards with a cry of "Jesus Christ on a purple pogo stick!" and slapped his hand over his sidearm.

"Easy!" Starpulse said, glancing around at the inert robot bodies in the room (even as Cyber Knight went to examine one). "They're friends of mine— they're here to help."

"I— okay." The man gulped and took his station-safe cell phone from the pouch opposite his sidearm. "I guess I'd better tell someone that you're back— I think Ms. Killian was freaking out."

"Do that," Starpulse said. "They're still near the main lock at radius two-seventy?"

"Yes, sir!" the man said as he dialed. "Sounds like things were getting heavy again, too— another incursion near the lock at radius zero."

"Oh, hell yes, killing supernatural critters on a space station!" Cyber Knight muttered as he straightened up from playing the sensors in his gloves over a destroyed Warren-bot. "I can die happy, now!

"What's the gravity here on outer rim, thirty-three percent? I'll need to adjust my power output, or I'll be bashing myself into walls. A lot."

"Yes, sir, thirty-three percent," the security officer said. Then he turned his attention to the phone and said, "Sergeant Gendron, Starpulse is back, and he brought two… uh, other heroes with him. Designations…?" He looked at Starpulse, who said his friends' names. "Armsman and Cyber Knight. They're coming with him, you might want to let Ms. Killian know."

Starpulse waited until the man looked up and gave him a nod, said, "She says, 'thank god, I don't have to tell Jocelyn,' sir. Also, 'get down here, it's nuts.' "

"We're on our way," Starpulse said, and led his friends out into the station and back towards the main airlock at radius zero.

"Killing demons in outer space," Cyber Knight laughed as they flew off. "That's so cool that I may have to figure out a way to stay here!"

_**88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888**_

_Eastland Mall, aboveground:_

Things had started to slow, finally— Buffy didn't know where the demons were coming from, but they just kept coming, and with Dawn working on getting to Joyce, there was no telling where they were coming from, or putting a stop to it.

START soldiers had the front line, at least for the moment, so Buffy went to check on Dawn and… whoever the redhead was. The woman— she reminded Buffy of Rose— was kneeling next to Dawn, and they had their heads together, so Buffy figured her for a friendly— looked grim, and Buffy's heart sank as she approached. She swung wide around Judith, River and Giles, coming in from the other end of the concrete path, passed (and gave friendly nods to) Mal Reynolds and Jayne Cobb. Those two were still shooting the occasional demons, and seemingly making some sort of competition out of it….

"Dawn?" Buffy asked as she got close enough to be heard.

Her sister looked up, and Buffy's heart sank at the expression on Dawn's face. "I'm sorry, Buffy, but— I can't get through this damned thing, even with all the tricks Fiona— she's an incredible witch, Buffy, just— she could give Willow a run for her money, and she can't even see a way past the damned spell that's locking us out."

"Dammit." Buffy closed her eyes for a moment, then said, "Okay. What about physically breaking in?"

"No," Dawn said, shaking her head. "The material here— concrete over steel, and _lots_ of both. We'd endanger the kids badly breaking through."

"I can't even get there through shadow," Fiona said, and at Buffy's odd look, she said, "My family and I can… do things with reality, change it, warp it, move from world to world. But this… whatever this Madison woman has done, it's so wrapped up in the stuff of this particular shadow that breaking her barrier would… it would endanger your world.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Harris."

"Buffy." The Slayer said it absently, then said, "There has to be… something, dammit! Warren! There must have been a way in for him, so maybe we should get the START Forced Entry team on it—"

"By the horn of the Unicorn, I'm an idiot!" Fiona said suddenly. She stood, looked around the bit of fight she could see, then shouted, "MERLIN! GET OVER HERE!"

"Merlin?" Buffy managed to croak. "Seriously?"

"Not the one you're thinking of," Fiona said, waving at a handsome young man in black and gray as he worked his way to them, slashing at the occasional demon with a golden saber that he carried, and nearly always killing the monsters. "Named for him. And a damned good wizard in his own right."

The man— his age was hard to judge, he looked to be late twenties or early thirties, moved like a teenager, and had eyes that were _old_— arrived and said, "What's up, Aunt Fi?"

"We need Ghostwheel," Fiona said. "There are some kids that got separated from the group, they're in danger, and we can't get to them physically or magically. Do you think Ghost can—"

"One way to find out," Merlin said, nodding. He pulled a beautifully made wooden box from a leather pouch on his belt, slid the top off, and shook out what looked like a deck of antique playing cards. As he shuffled through the cards (some of which seemed to have paintings of his family on them— Buffy saw Fiona's form on one of them quite clearly) he said, "But… look, Aunt Fi, everything Ghost does, he does in ways a lot like we do, so…."

"I know— but we should try." Fiona shook her head a little and added, "Maybe the Logrus magics?"

"Maybe," Merlin agreed as he drew out a card that had a painting of many balls of light and occult symbols gathered around a bigger sphere of light. "One second, please."

The young man focused on the card, holding it down in front of him at about the level of the bottom of his sternum, and after a long moment… the largest ball of light seemed to just grow three dimensional and hover above the card's surface.

"Yes, Merlin?" asked a voice that sounded like Sir Ian McKellen while he was playing Gandalf in the Lord of the Rings.

"Ghostwheel, we have a problem involving a magical portal that's sealed itself up," Merlin said, apparently to the light. "There are some kids in danger, and we aren't able to get to them."

"Can you be a bit more specific about either the children or their location?" Ghostwheel— whoever he was— said. "My sensors can find most anything, but I do need something to work with."

_Sensors?_ Buffy thought. _What, is Ghostwheel a starship?_

"Um, one of the missing children is my daughter, uh, Ghost… wheel?" Buffy said. "Does that help? And if it's not being rude or anything… what are you?"

"It does help," said the ball of light, chuckling. "As for what I am… I'm an artificial intelligence that combines both technology and magic to function, can work through shadow, and can find most anything.

"May I scan you, madam, so that I may attempt to find your daughter?"

"Yes, absolutely," Buffy said, puffing a breath upwards to get a lock of hair out of her eyes. "Anything! And call me Buffy."

"Thank you." A beam of light shot out of the ball of light, ran once from the top of Buffy's head to her toes, and vanished. "This is… you are infused with a significant level of an unusual kind of magic— unusual to me, anyway.

"Buffy, would your daughter have this same magic bound to her?"

"Yes, and so would one of the other four kids we're looking for," Buffy said. "They passed through a magical gate that started here, on this path we're on, and the gate… closed up and won't re-open."

"Understood. One moment, please." The ball of light floated in place for approximately ten seconds— then let out a low, dismayed whistle. "Uh. Merlin? I've never seen anything like this… may I record the energies I'm scanning for further analysis at a later date?"

"Go ahead, Ghost." Merlin sighed, then said, "Any luck on the kids?"

"I have a location on them, though they've been separated somewhat— but I'm afraid that any attempt to bring them here or send help there would be fatal to the individuals attempting to leave or go to the location." Ghostwheel actually sounded offended by his inability to help. "There's a twisting of shadow that…. Living matter would suffer a fatal restructuring while passing in either direction. I'm afraid it's deliberate."

"Dammit!" Buffy muttered, her voice low. She turned her back on the others to gather herself for a moment.

Buffy took a steadying breath, banished the tears that were trying to overwhelm her control, closed her eyes and thought, _Look, I could use some help, here, if anyone's listening. Please. I lost my son and I'm terrified for my daughter, so if anyone can hear this, if anyone can help… please! Please, help me save my child!_

There was no answer— at least not in words.

The Scythe vibrated gently in her hands, and Buffy heard that soft, pleasant metallic ringing sound that the Scythe sometimes made when it was being used as it was meant to be used— and she gasped in relief.

"Thank you." She turned back to the others and said, "Ghostwheel— what about this?" She held up the Scythe. "It's solid metal and long-dead wood and leather, it's got the spirits— and minds, I guess— of several women magically bound to it, but it's not living."

"A moment… ah." Light played over the Scythe, then winked out, and when Ghostwheel spoke, it— he, he sounded male— actually sounded pleased. "That is the source— origin-point would be better, perhaps, since there is no flow of power from it to you and the others now— the origin-point of your power.

"Yes, Buffy, I can move that from here to the place where the children in question are."

"It should go to the one who's supposed to be on fire," said a voice from behind Dawn— and all of them jumped. River Tam smiled a little shyly, said, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you— but it should go to the one who's supposed to burn. It'll start the fire, help her understand what it means to blaze.

"Your daughter— Joyce, her name's Joyce— has got other help, Buffy, help— help that she never expected, but that she really needed. Help that will make her feel…." River Tam cocked her head as though listening to something only she could hear, and said, "It will make her feel _complete_ again."

Buffy bit her lip for a moment, then sighed and said, "Okay. Okay.

"Ghostwheel, one of the kids— she's a little taller than me, long blond hair, currently in a ponytail and wrapped at the end. Her eyes are purple, and she's probably using a Chinese longsword.

"Give this to her." Buffy hefted the Scythe, felt it vibrate warmly, and knew that she'd made the right decision. "How do we do this?"

"Hang on a sec," Dawn said hurriedly. She looked at River Tam and said, "Are you _sure_ that Joyce will be okay?"

"She has help," River said— and smiled a slow, sweet smile. "Someone she loves is there, helping her, and it's a secret— the bad-bot doesn't even know she has help.

"The blonde girl… the Scythe will help her help Joyce, help her… help her _burn_."

Dawn looked at her sister— and nodded, just a little.

"Okay, it's a consensus." Buffy smiled a little, looked at the light that was Ghostwheel, and said, "How do I do this?"

"Toss the weapon into the air, at least ten feet to give me time to align myself under it," said that Gandalf-like voice. "I will do the rest."

"Wait, wait!" Dawn patted furiously at her pockets, came up with a pad and a pen, and scribbled on it for a half a minute or so, then tore the sheet she'd written on off and wrapped it around the stake that made up the bottom of the weapon's handle, secured it there with a rubber band from another pocket. "Okay, now."

"Is that a secret?" Buffy asked, tapping the note.

"Not really," Dawn said, and smiled at Buffy. "But it won't mean anything to you, Buffy. It will to Jocelyn— I hope."

"Good enough." Buffy hefted the Scythe, took a deep breath, and said, "Ready, Ghostwheel?"

"I am ready, Buffy."

Buffy hefted the weapon that had been made for the Slayer, that had changed _everything,_ made the Slayer into _Slayers,_ made them a _force,_ not a single girl, then flung it up into the air, nerves making her throw it higher than she'd been told, and it sailed a good thirty feet up into the air above the little circular patch of jungle— before the light that somehow was Ghostwheel zipped upwards, passed over it— and made it vanish.

"The blonde girl— Jocelyn, I presume— has it," the ball of light said as it zipped back down to hover in front of Merlin. "Unfortunately, the transition attracted hostile magical attention, and I can no longer penetrate the area, even to observe."

"Crap." Buffy stretched once, looked around, and said, "Okay. Monsters still on the influx. Dawn… see if you can do something about that, and if you folks can help, I'll be more grateful than I already am— and that's saying something. When this is all over? You're invited to my house for dinner, and my husband will cook, so it won't even be terrifying.

"Right now… it's time to go to work."

With that, Buffy Harris turned and charged back into the battle that was just starting to heat up again.

_**88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888**_

_Jocelyn:_

I held my ground, refused to move away from the spot where a secret door had opened and swallowed up Joyce Harris, and not just because I didn't want to disappoint Buffy. Joyce is my friend, someone I'd loved as long as I'd known her, which had been longer than either of us could really remember.

Ian Matthias worked his way to me, and while he covered me for a moment, I used my sword to cut a big X into the section of wall that had moved to let the Gleven snatch Joyce, so that I could move, could work better with Ian to hold the demons, to give Piper room to work on that damned vault door.

If it came to it, I'd have to go that way, through that massive vault door, have to leave Joyce on her own. I'd hate every minute of it— but I'd do it, if it came to it, and I'd take Piper with me. If he'd come, I'd take Ian— but if he refused, I wouldn't blame him, wouldn't hold it against him at all—

No. No, I wasn't going there. One thing at a time, Jocelyn! Think too far ahead and you end up confused— this isn't a chess game, you aren't up against Giles. This is bigger than that, and a lot more unpredictable.

As the demons dwindled in number to maybe a half a dozen (holy crap, we'd whittled them down that much, just me and Ian, we were good) I saw a light pop into existence above my head, glanced up—

—and slammed my sword back over my shoulder and into its sheath, reached out and caught the Scythe as it tumbled neatly into my hands. There was a note strapped to the handle with a rubber band, and I jerked it off and stuffed it in a pouch on my belt to look at once these last few demons were gone.

Ian saw what had happened, and he let out a soft, "Yes! Game-changer!" as he moved a half a step closer, since the Scythe was nowhere near as long as my sword, and there would be more space between us.

I'd never actually _used_ the Scythe before— and I felt so damned amazing, wielding a weapon that had been made for Slayers, the very thing that had made me a Slayer. I grinned like a kid on Christmas morning as I waded into the Chintor (kind of a chitinous snake, maybe thirty feet long, poisonous bite, tail-sting and spit) in front of me, cut it into four pieces as the Scythe sang a little victory shrill. I hit the vampire behind it in the chest with the stake in the butt of the Scythe, dusted it, kicked the Fyarl demon behind it sideways, so that it bounced off the wall and grabbed a still-glowing-with-the-power-of-Hope Ian to steady itself. Its hands caught fire, it staggered back from Ian, and he stabbed it in the throat with his short sword, killing it nice and dead. The Miquot behind it threw a bone knife at me, and I batted it aside with the Scythe, used the weight of the weapon to pull me into a spin, then snapped the Miquot's neck with a back round kick. A vampire charged past me, and Ian, seeing that there was only one more vampire and a were-rat behind it, went ahead and tackled that one, knowing I could handle the last two monsters.

When I finished those two off by beheading the were-rat (with delight— those things CREEP ME OUT!), I heard Ian coughing behind me, and turned to give him a hand up.

"You okay?" I asked as I thumped his back to help ease the coughing.

"I breathed vamp ash," he complained. "Disgusting!"

"I'm with you on that," I agreed. I glance back at Piper, still working on the second dial combination lock. "I hate to interrupt her, but—"

"Don't." Ian took a slow, deep breath, then said, "What was it that was attached to the Scythe when it… I'm guessing when Dawn sent it through?"

"Oh, right," I said, reaching into my belt pouch as I started for the section of wall where Joyce had been kidnapped. "Thanks, I forgot about it."

I pulled the note out, unfolded it, and looked at the words that had been hastily written there by Aunt Dawn (I recognized her handwriting). After a couple of seconds, I read them aloud— Ian would want to hear the first part, at least.

" 'Jocelyn— don't worry about Joyce, we have it on good authority that she's got help coming, or there already,' " I read. " 'You can still help her, though: Be the Blaze, Jocelyn. I'm not sure what that means— but I know that it's what the Guardians want, why they wanted the Scythe to go to you right now.

" 'Be the Blaze!' "

For a long second, no one spoke— then Piper called, "Holy crap! Okay, I think I've about got it, one more tumbler… get ready for round two!"

"Wait!" I said, agonizing over that single word more than— well, maybe more than you can ever know. I hope more than you can know, because saying it actually hurt, actually scared me. "Wait… I think…." I looked down at the Scythe in my hand, and I frowned. "Dammit. I think I'm supposed to do something, but I don't have the first clue what!"

"It'll come to you," Ian said, his voice calm. "It'll come. Come on, Jocelyn, stay cool— it'll come."

"Okay." I looked back at Piper, smiled a little and said, "I love you, Piper."

"If I said 'ditto,' would you call me Patrick Swayze?" she asked, then smiled and said, "Love you, too.

"You ready?"

"Ready." I took a breath and turned back to face the way that the demons had appeared from last time. "Do it!"

Piper moved the dial of the second combination lock slowly, carefully— then stopped and stood up straight as something inside the door let out a heavy "clunk."

I tensed, gripped the Scythe more tightly, and waited….

No blue flash. No monsters. No nothing.

"Is it wrong," Ian said very slowly, "that the fact that nothing at all happened when Piper opened that lock makes me very, _very,_ nervous?"

"If it is," I said, just as slowly, "then we're both in the wrong, at least.

"Piper— do you know what's next?"

"Number pad, and it's easy," Piper called back. "Screen above it lit up with the two-letter symbols for a buttload of elements— sixty-four of the one hundred and seventeen. I'm inputting the atomic numbers— I'm sure that's the combination."

"My god, smart women are sexy," I muttered. Then I said louder, "Honey, the next time you call yourself a geek, I'm gonna remind you of this moment, and your geekiness saving our butts, okay?"

Piper laughed and called, "Good point— okay!" and kept on inputting numbers.

After maybe a minute more, that massive door let out another "clunk," and again, nothing happened— at least as far as monsters appearing. However, a moment later, Piper let out a groan and said, "Oh, crap, why did it have to be this?"

The screen above the qwerty keyboard had lit up, and Piper was staring at it with a mildly disgusted look on her face. I went to take a look— and groaned along with her.

Forty-nine riddles had appeared on the screen above the qwerty keyboard, and I don't mean kid's riddles like "why do Indians wear feathers on their heads?" (The answer being "to keep their wigwam." Ow.) No, these were old riddles, or at least old fashioned— like the ones Bilbo and Gollum asked each other in _the Hobbit,_ you know? But none of these were from there, I'd have recognized those.

Here's the first five (and their answers, which we certainly didn't get right away) to give you an idea of what we were dealing with:

1) What is in seasons, seconds, centuries and minutes but not in decades, years or days? (The letter "N.")

2) The person who makes it, sells it. The person who buys it never uses it and the person who uses it doesn't know they are. What is it? (A coffin.)

3) The more you have of it, the less you see. What is it? (Darkness.)

4) I know a word of letters three. Add two, and fewer there will be. (Few.)

5) Say my name and I disappear. What am I? (Silence.)

Ugh. Forty-four more like that, lots of them worse. Harder.

"The first one is the letter 'N,' but after that?" Ian shook his head. "After that, I got nothin' at all."

"I hate Catherine Madison," Piper muttered, and we started through the riddles, answering the ones we could get between the three of us. We went through the first twenty, solved eight of them—

—and white light flashed against one wall as something big appeared out of nowhere, almost seven feet tall, a staff in its hand, a huge cloak flapping around it as it roared in pain or anger.

Not my day, you know?


	46. Ignition

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 46: Ignition

_In the Trap:_

Joyce Harris stared, drop-jawed and completely flabbergasted, as first the head, then the whole body of her brother Alex poked through the door (literally through the door itself, without bothering to open it first) opposite the place where she'd been pulled into Warren's trap. Her brother, Alex, _dead since June,_ completely fine-looking, solid-looking, despite walking through a door like it wasn't even there, and— and oh, god, there was Chief, her brother's pseudo dragon friend, who had died after trying to kill Warren, who had shown Joyce's friend Leia the face Warren was using most often these days.

"Don't say anything," Alex said quickly. "Warren can't see us, doesn't know that we came to help you— don't spoil it, sis. Me'n Chief, we'll be your secret weapons.

"You can talk to me through Chief, but don't say anything out loud, seriously."

_Alex,_ Joyce thought in the direction of her brother's scaly best friend, her mind whirling, _Alex, you can't be… you died!_

"Can't let that stop me— Mom didn't." Alex grinned his biggest, cheesiest grin. "Come on, through this door— this is the easiest monster of the three. Move it, sis."

Joyce hesitated, but only long enough to remember what Belinda, in the grip of the Powers That Be, had said to her before they all left for Montana… less than a day ago, god.

"_First, know that to the Guardians of Sh'rin's time, you, Daughter of the Prime, Daughter of the Heart, are named what you do not now believe you can be; those women call you 'the Complete.'_

"_Second… when you see what cannot be, it is— and you must trust in that which you see."_

Alex and Chief couldn't be here— so this was true, it was really her brother and his best friend, they had really come to help her— and Joyce Harris, caught in a deathtrap that terrified her, about to face who-knew-how-many enemies in an effort to reach the thing that had killed her brother, went to the door Alex had indicated, smiled as she moved that way, and felt for the first time since his death, whole.

Whole… and _Complete_.

"Vampire on the other side," Alex said as she approached the door. "Not too big, but he's got his game face on— and he's hungry. He's by the door to your right, watching the room, so you won't surprise him. Now, go— almost gas time!"

Joyce flung the door open and dived through in a roll, came to her feet facing the vampire that had started to charge her, beheaded it after a brief battle, then looked around, carefully not letting her eyes fall directly on her brother's ghost.

"This way," Alex said, waving her to the door to the left of where she'd entered. "Were-rat on the other side, confused, hungry, in the corner ahead and right of where you're entering from."

Joyce took a single breath, looked around for show's sake, then headed to the door Alex had indicated, asking Chief mentally, _How did you get permission for this, you guys? I'm glad you're here, so glad I can't say it, but… how?_

After a second, her brother looked at her and grinned. "Sis. Seriously. You don't think the Powers owe our family some serious favors? I didn't figure Mom or Dad would mind me cashing in some of their credit, not for this.

"Besides— you know I can be a pain in the ass if I don't get what I want!"

Joyce had to stifle a laugh as she reached for the door to the next room, thinking, _Good point!_ as she did so.

_**88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888**_

_Asimov Station:_

Rose Killian braced herself, trying to prepare for being hit by a H'lkordak demon— a badger-ish thing the size of a rhino, with a five-foot-long tail that it could and did use like a whip, with a sort of flaring, leathery hood like a cobra, a muzzle that crossed the worst attributes of alligator and shark, and a blue-gray hide that made rhino and alligator hide look like rice paper— and suddenly the incoming demon slammed sideways and into the station bulkhead hard enough to stop it in its tracks.

Rose slammed her sword through the thing's braincase, killing it instantly, looked up— and grinned as Starpulse lowered his hand— still glowing from the concussion blast he'd used on the monster— and said in a scolding voice, "Bad demon! No squishing our Slayers!"

"Oh, Turing's _ghost,_ you're making jokes!" complained the man behind him, who wore hi-tech armor and held something that looked suspiciously like a light saber in one hand. "Shadow Dragon will never, _ever_ forgive me for not bringing him with us to hear _you_ making jokes!"

A vampire leapt at the armored figure— Rose had read Ballard's copies of the comics about Starpulse, so she recognized Cyber Knight— and he laughed and said, "Dude, light-sword!" as he cut the thing's head off neatly.

"They're not very bright," said a figure in black pants, a gray tunic, and a white jacket open over the tunic. A long sword made of silver light filled his right hand, a mace of the same solid light his left, and Armsman grinned fiercely as he battled a trio of surprisingly quick-moving zombies, killed one even as he spoke. "But really—" A second zombie fell, its skull crushed. "—I don't mind so much." The third fell, its head flying down the hall a ways as the sword passed through its neck and the mace hit it right after. "It's kind of a pleasant change."

Rose laughed, heard Elaine giggling behind her, and Ballard muttering about wanting an autograph as he and Faith closed the gap behind them.

There were demon bodies everywhere around them, and a couple of robot bodies as well.

"You guys are efficient as hell," Rose commented. "Where were you while we were in Montana?

"No, never mind, strictly rhetorical.

"Willow? Any danger of another incursion?"

"Nope." Willow smirked and said, "Last time they tried, I shifted their warp about a thousand miles that way." She pointed up and behind them, away from the Earth below. "Then I made it _bigger_. Turns out, demons? Not so big on breathing vacuum."

"Oooo, I like!" Rose said. "Well… what next? Down to reinforce the others, or—"

"Excuse me," Cyber Knight said, raising his left hand with one finger up, even as he shut down his light-sword. "When we first arrived, I scanned the bodies of the robots that 'Pulse destroyed, and I was able to copy the stuff still in the short-term storage in a couple of their heads. My onboard computer has been deciphering it, it just finished.

"What's in Cleveland? 'Cause that Warren guy, the robotic one? He was thinking that it was 'up to his Cleveland selves' if someone named Catherine failed."

Everyone from Team Slayer fell silent and stared at Cyber Knight, who squirmed a little uncomfortably. "Uh, I guess I'm the bearer of bad news, but—"

"Screw that!" Rose said, shaking herself out of her shock. "You may have just saved our planet!

"Okay, we left the shelter at radius ninety. Let's move, people!"

Rose turned and charged down the curved hallway of the space station, rushing in hope of getting to the Hellmouth in Cleveland before Warren tried… whatever it was he intended to do should Catherine Madison fail in her attempt to perform the Ritual of the Gaping Way.

As they followed, Colin explained as briefly as possible to Cyber Knight and Armsman what they were going to be doing, and when he finished, Cyber Knight said quietly, "Okay, that's scary."

"Yeah." Colin shook his head and said, "Knight… thanks. You maybe just saved the world."

"Hey, thank me after we clean this asshole's clock, man." Cyber Knight didn't sound nervous, just determined. "Maybe I can help— I've got a piece of the coding he used to self-program, to copy his… consciousness, I guess, into the robot bodies. Maybe I can come up with a virus— I can deliver it via the frequency he uses to communicate with his selves, you know?"

"Work on that," Colin agreed. "I can only go down so fast— no heat shields on the transport, just the tensile strength to handle the pressure without blowing up, and I can only absorb so much heat myself— so once we hit atmosphere, we slow significantly until we're grounded."

"I'm on it," Cyber Knight said. "Armsman, once we're in this transport, ask everyone not to disturb me until we reach our destination— I'm gonna have to work fast."

"You got it," Armsman agreed.

Starpulse just grinned— and thanked the Powers That Be that he'd run out of power and been snapped home when he had.

_Without Knight, we'd have no idea about Warren's plan C, or D, or whatever letter he's up to, now,_ Colin Goddard thought as he followed his new family towards the airlock where they'd left their pressurized shelter, his friends from his birth world right behind. _So I guess there was a _reason_ for scaring me silly_.

The majority of the team boarded the transport shelter, and Colin got one of their security escort to let him out after it had disengaged from the lock, and started towing it towards Earth, flying as fast as he dared while they were still in the vacuum of space.

They had just reached forty thousand feet above the Earth, the point where Colin had to start diverting around air traffic corridors, when Rose, sitting between Elaine and Willow, happened to glance across at Chantelle— just as the other Slayer cocked her head and said, "Whatinhell?"— then stared off into space. Rose opened her mouth to ask what was wrong— and Chantelle shook herself, sighed, and grinned hugely.

"That," she said, just loud enough for the others to hear her, "was cooler than all hell. Thanks, Jocelyn!"

Rose opened her mouth to ask what Chantelle was talking about— and white light exploded behind her eyes.

_**88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888**_

_Jocelyn:_

I drew myself up to leap at the intruding whatsit— and Ian grabbed my arm, said, "Wait, Jocelyn!"

I hesitated— and the figure straightened up, said, in a clear, perfectly ordinary (if rather annoyed) voice, "Ow," and I realized that it was just a very tall man, wearing a big, unbelted duster in gray leather and carrying a staff.

"Seriously. Ow." The man shook himself and looked up at the ceiling. "And… this is not Chicago."

He looked around, and I got my first good look at him. Really tall, around six-nine or so, slender but not skinny, dark hair, a little too long and kind of messy, brown eyes sharp and alert. He wore black jeans, a red T-shirt with the words, "Master Smartass" printed in white on the front, and motorcycle boots. He was handsome, though not spectacularly so, and when he saw us three standing there, he immediately went still. Then his eyes fell on the Scythe and he said, in a shocked voice, "Where's Buffy!?"

I opened my mouth to ask how he knew Buffy, and Ian— so help me!— Ian _squealed_.

"Harry Dresden, holy crap!" Ian managed after a couple of false starts. "My god, I've read your entire series, and they're _finally_ making a movie, and— holy crap!"

I swear, I saw the guy mentally shift gears as soon as Ian said that. He shook himself, leaned back against the wall in a deliberately non-threatening manner, then said, "Okay. When Ebenezar said that the Nevernever was in 'a real damned state,' he wasn't just whistling Dixie.

"Yes. I'm Harry Dresden. Young lady, may I ask who you are, and how you got your hands on that weapon?"

"Buffy sent it to me," I said, hefting the Scythe slightly for the comfort of the feel of it. "I mean— she probably had Aunt Dawn do the sending, but I know that Buffy wants me to have it, to use it. She maybe thought I was going to help Joyce with it, but Aunt Dawn said that Joyce has other help, and to just… do what the Powers That Be want, to be… to be what the Guardians called me." I shook my head, and said, "It's hard— I want to go after Joyce— but Aunt Dawn, I trust her."

"Oh, boy," this man— presumably Harry Dresden, whose name I knew, but I'd never got around to reading the books about him, Mom had read the first couple-three and not liked them, so I skipped them— suddenly leaned back against the wall more heavily, and I saw… something, something that looked like hard, fierce _worry_ pass over his face. Then he visibly banished the worry and the look, and said, "Okay. Anything I can do to help? Any friends of Buffy are friends of mine."

"I don't know, are you any good at riddles?" I asked automatically.

"Pretty much very good." He took a deep breath. "This Joyce you're worried about… Buffy's daughter?"

"Uh-huh," Ian said. "Newly Chosen, not trained so well, and alone with a murderous robot and who-the-hell-knows what else after her. If Dawn hadn't said that Joyce has help, that she's got the help she needs… I'd be freaking, here." The out-of-his-world wizard looked at Ian and raised an eyebrow, and Ian said, his voice a peculiar mixture of fear, love and pride, "She's my girlfriend."

"Ah." Harry Dresden looked a little thrown-off-his-stride, then said, "Okay, guy— how about some introductions, since you seem to know who I am?"

"Sorry!" Ian said, and took a deep breath. "Harry Dresden, wizard, member of the Wardens of the White Council of Wizards, all-around serious-power-to-contend-with, I'm Ian Matthias, and before Jocelyn tells you, I'll tell you that I'm the Champion of the Power Hope.

"This is Jocelyn Penobscot, known to the Guardians who made (and kind of inhabit) the Scythe as 'the Blaze,' which title she's working on figuring out how to earn, still.

"And the girl muttering to herself over there…." Ian grinned, and I could see a little bit a mischief in his expression as he said, "That's Piper Benjamin— the spectacular Spider-woman."

"Nice to meet— Spider-woman!?" Harry Dresden seemed extremely excited by that last, but he took a deep breath, held up a hand, and said, "Sorry— it's nice to meet you, Mr. Matthias, Ms. Penobscot, Ms. Benjamin.

"But… Ms. Benjamin, I hope you won't think I'm out of line here, but, uh… say, you wouldn't happen to be a clone, would you?"

Piper actually chuckled, then said distractedly "Let me guess— I was a comic character where you're from? Vanished after the original-male-me and I beat the snot out of Doc Ock for making me and other clones of original-male-me?"

"Got it in one," the wizard answered, smiling a little. "Look, guys, call me Harry, okay?"

We asked him to use our first names, and he said, "Okay, look, I really am good with riddles, and I'll help, but can I ask…? Well, Joyce. Who's her dad?"

"Xander," Ian said immediately. Then he blinked. "Wait, you know about Buffy, what, are we… books, there?"

"No, no." Harry looked very distracted as he stroked his chin and added, under his breath, "Buffy… and Xander? Seriously?" Then he looked up and said, "Uh. Sorry. You guys… I have no idea who you two are. Sorry!

"Look, Buffy was a TV show where I'm from, then a comic series. The show went from her first day at Sunnydale High to Sunnydale collapsing into a pit when the Hellmouth there got closed. The comics… well, I only read as far as Buffy going a couple centuries into the future a bit over a year after that the Hellmouth got closed, and meeting the one Slayer of that time. Then… it got pretty bad, and I stopped reading, actually."

That last sentence had been a lie— I knew it, though I didn't know exactly how I knew it— but I didn't think it was a malicious lie, you know? It felt like he was… well, trying to protect us, though I've no idea from what.

Then I took a good look at Harry Dresden, and I noticed something that… well, given a couple of things he said, I thought I knew why he didn't want to talk about what had happened later in the Buffy comics (that thought was just… too weird).

Ian saved me by asking who'd played Buffy in the TV show.

"Sarah Michelle Gellar," Harry said immediately, "She—"

"That actually kind of makes sense," Ian agreed, and he looked at me. "You ever watch her first popular show, Jocelyn?"

"I loved it," I said, grinning. "My dad has all seven seasons of Harker on DVD. For a normal human, she was pretty damned good at hunting vampires, you know.

"I still think the truth about the supernatural coming out in 2003 is why that one got cancelled."

Harry Dresden looked back and forth between Ian and I for a moment, then said in a voice that sounded kind of stunned, "Sarah Michelle Gellar was in a show about a vampire hunter that was called 'Harker?' She was the lead?"

"Yeah," I said, grinning. "She played Elizabeth Harker, Jonathan and Mina's great-great granddaughter, who was out there hunting vampires like the last several generations of her family had been, since Dracula wasn't really dead— they based it more on some books by a guy named Fred Saberhagen than the actual Dracula novel, and—"

"I've read them," Harry said with a grin and a nod. "Sounds like a good show, really."

"It was," Ian agreed. He looked thoughtful, then said, "You know, Sarah Michelle could play Buffy, if she dyed her hair blond. Weird that I never thought about it before."

"Trust me, you get used to that sort of thing sooner or later," Harry said with a sigh. "Okay. Can I get a brief on the sitch before we start riddling?"

I rolled my eyes and said, "Ian, go for it."

Ian started talking, and I went to look over Piper's shoulder as she scrolled through the riddles again, looking for any that she might notice the answer to on a second look.

"Sarah Michelle Gellar as Buffy," I muttered. "That'd be _weird_. I mean, I approve of her playing Ripley in the Alien remake that they're doing, and I loved Sigourney Weaver in the first series, so that's saying something, but… Gellar as Buffy?

"No _way_."

After a few minutes, Harry Dresden muttered a few words, drew something on the back of his left hand in colored chalk, then came over and stood behind Piper's other shoulder, asked her to scroll back to the first riddle we hadn't been able to answer. He got that, and the next three, easily, then a fourth after some thought.

"You really are good at this," Ian said, grinning. "What's your secret?"

"Combination of having a mentor for a while who happened to grow up when these sort of riddles were popular," Harry said, smiling a little, "and loving role-playing games. The guy who's been running most of what I played since… oh, summer of 2010 is not just a geek, he's _the_ geek, and he loves riddles like these. Between the two… I'm pretty good at them."

We went through the list, and Harry solved all but four of them, then suggested we all take a couple of minutes to unwind, think about other stuff, calm ourselves. Seemed like a good idea, even with the damned unknown deadline, because my brain? Pretty much doing nothing but spinning its wheels.

Ian walked off a little, to the wall where Joyce had been kidnapped, laid his hand on the crossing of the X that I'd made to mark it, and stood there, eyes closed, trying to feel… anything about Joyce. (I knew what he was doing because I wanted to do it myself.)

Piper shook herself, stretched languidly, hugged me for a long moment, then said, "I need to stretch my legs," and ran up the wall to the ceiling, where she started pacing rapidly.

Harry Dresden watched this in delight, stayed leaning against the wall and just watched Piper be spidery, a little grin playing around his lips, but never _quite_ solidifying.

"You know Buffy, don't you, Harry?" I asked after a minute or so.

He didn't reply right away, just closed his eyes for a moment. Then he opened them slowly, looked at me— and suddenly smiled, a wide, delighted smile, looked down the hall at Piper, smiled more, then looked at Ian— and his eyes went wide with amazement.

Finally, he looked back at me— and at the Scythe. His smile came back, a softer, less childlike thing, and he said, "I know Buffy, yes." He nodded in the direction of the Scythe, bowed solemnly and said, his tone low and respectful, "Hello, ladies."

So help me, the Scythe made it's little ringing sound of greeting to him— to a _male,_ for the first time in my experience.

Harry again did that long, slow blink, then looked up at me and said, "I may never get tired of looking at Slayers with the Sight." I cocked my head in puzzlement, and he said, "Wizard's Sight. Lets a wizard see… magic, life, energy, all of that. And looking at Slayers with it on? Always a good thing. You're all… in different ways, each and every one of you is amazing."

I blushed beet red, stammered a thank you, and Harry chuckled.

"Anyway… you're really a Slayer, that's really the scythe… so I'm just going to have to trust you." Harry smiled a little and said, very quietly, "Yes. I know Buffy. _A_ Buffy, at least. In my world, I met her, Dawn and Xander on my way back from being dead— long story, that, but I really was dead and I really did come back— and they ended up coming to my world. The end of magic on the world they were from had forced Buffy out of the world, into the Nevernever— 'the land of all imagination,' I've heard some wizards from my world call it— and Xander and Dawn wouldn't let go of her, wouldn't stop trying to hold her there, so they got pulled with her.

"They came home with me, we all got to be friends, Buffy went to work as a PI for me, Xander became a Knight of the Cross— seriously big deal where I'm from, and damn, but he deserved it, and he's damned good at it!— and Dawn… well, after I sort of jump-started the Scythe and caused there to be Slayers on my world, Dawn rebuilt and became the head of the Watchers' Council, and she's amazing."

I gaped at Harry Dresden for a long moment, and he tried not to laugh at my flabbergasted expression— and failed.

"I'm sorry," he chuckled, still trying to quit. "It's just that… you look like a cartoon kid who just realized that she's standing on air!"

That made me giggle myself, and I said, "No, it's okay, Harry— it's just… finding out that there's more than one Buffy? Then that Aunt Dawn— that has to be confusing, sorry, I'm not related to her, that's an honorary thing, all emotion, no blood— is the head of the Watcher's Council… wow."

"Ian said Dawn's a serious witch, here, and in charge of the Guardians of this time," Harry said, nodding at the Scythe. "That one of them came forward to your time to restart them, and that Dawn's in charge now. I think that's… well, my version of Dawn will like that— if I ever tell anyone back home about this, anyway."

I thought about that, about the expressions on his face when I'd talked about Joyce, about the things I'd noticed, and I bit the bullet. "Um, so… you're really close to your Buffy, aren't you?"

"You… could say that," Harry said very slowly, not looking anywhere _near_ my face.

"Yeah. Kind of figured." I took a deep breath and said, very quietly, "That's a wedding ring on your left hand, Harry. Is Buffy wearing the other one?"

For a long moment, Harry Dresden just stared at me— then he said, very slowly, "Kid, I'm supposed to be the detective, here, okay?

"Yes. She is."

"Oh, hell," I sighed, and looked up at him, fighting hard not to grin. "Now I'm gonna have to read those books about you. Anyone Buffy would marry? I want to know more about them!"

That startled him into a laugh, and then he shook his head and asked, "Joyce… what's her middle name, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Samantha," I said softly. "Joyce Samantha Harris. For Samantha Finn, Riley's wife. They… the Finns both died in the Battle of Bloomington.

"Your Joyce? What's her middle name?"

"Elaine," Harry said, and his voice was rough. "Joyce Elaine Dresden, for… similar reasons.

"Hey… Battle of Bloomington… Bloomington, Indiana, Illinois, Michigan… other?"

"Illinois," I said, and he grinned. "Why?"

"I've been there." He looked around, then said, "I'm guessing here, maybe?" I nodded, and he said, "Two of my best Wardens— I'm the regional commander for the Eastern half of the United States— are from Bloomington, live in Normal. And they're both huge Buffy fans. Killian may kill me if she ever finds out I was h—"

My brain caught up with what Harry was saying, and I interrupted with a shocked, _"Rose_ Killian!?"

"Yeah, how'd you know?" Harry said, startled.

"Is she, uh, gay?" I asked. "Or maybe bi and prefers girls? Tiny? Redheaded? Goddess with a sword?"

"Gay, I think," Harry said slowly, his own expression as stunned as I imagine mine was. "Married to Elaine Marshall-Killian, who—"

"Who's got black hair, and is a dancer, an amazing dancer," I said in a small voice. "Uh, I don't suppose them and your Dawn ever… uh, see, they're in a five-way relationship here, my aunts Rose, Elaine, Dawn, Sh'rin— the Guardian who came here to reboot them— and my Uncle Ballard, still not by blood."

"No, Dawn's married— to a girl you wouldn't know about, if you haven't read the series, and maybe if you had, because some stuff Ian said made it plain that things went differently in those books than they did for me, starting with when I died." Harry shook his head rapidly, as though to clear it, then said, "However, Dawn did say something, once, about how if she hadn't met her wife, she'd probably have to see if Rose and Elaine were open to being a trio."

"That," I said, a smile spreading across my face, "is actually kinda cool."

Harry blinked, looked at me, and said, "Yeah, it is, isn't it?"

"Oh, hell!" Piper said from the ceiling thirty feet or so down the hallway. She slapped her forehead (really odd to see, upside down) and said "I have it— the answer to that really long riddle!"

Ian came back up to us as Piper dropped from the ceiling and went to the keyboard. She scrolled down to the longest riddle of the bunch and read it aloud.

" 'There is one word that stands the test of time and holds fast to the center of everything. Though everyone will try at least once in their life to move around this word, but in fact, unknowingly, they use it every moment of the day. Young or old, awake or in sleep, human or animal, this word stands fast. It belongs to everyone, to all living things, but no one can master it. The word is?' " She looked around at us and said, "It's really, _really_ ironic that I got this one while walking on the ceiling— 'gravity!' "

"Oh, that's just not right!" Harry burst out, chuckling around his words as Piper typed in the answer and the riddle vanished, leaving three on the screen. "Okay, maybe that will trigger something else… what's next?"

We looked the next one over, and suddenly Harry said, "Hang on… there's not a single 'E' anywhere in that paragraph, and E's dirt common."

"Holy crap." Piper typed in 'No E,' and that riddle vanished. "Nice one."

"Yeah, but I still got nothing on those last two," Harry grumbled.

" 'What question can you never honestly answer yes to?' " Piper said, sighing. "I can't even begin to—"

"Oh, hell." Ian's turn to slap his forehead. " 'Are you asleep!?' Because if you are, you can't answer!"

That left us with one— and it was a skull-buster.

Two in a whole and four in a pair

And six in a trio you see

And eight's a quartet but what you must get

Is the name that fits just one of me?

We all stared, and suddenly Piper groaned and said, "It's a stupid math problem! The answer is 'a half!' "

She reached for the keyboard, then stopped and said, "Are we ready for this? Really ready?"

"I guess we have to be," I said, taking a long, deep breath. "Ian?"

"Ready," he said, and the blue light of the Power Hope appeared from him again.

"Uh, one sec," Harry said, and backed down the hall ten paces or so, then muttered something and smeared the chalk marking he'd made on his left hand. "There— sorry, I have to do that to get close to technology stuff without shorting it out, and it interferes with my own magic, so… figured I'd better get rid of it.

"I'm ready— and before you say it, any of you, yes. I'm fighting with you, for you. That's all.

"Now, let's get it done."

I grinned as Harry used one of Buffy's favorite phrases, and moved to a spot about three feet in front of where the vault door should pass when it swung open.

Piper typed in the answer to that last (really annoying) riddle, and that big, vault-like door made not one but _several_ mighty "clunks," then started to swing outward with a low whine of servomotors.

The door finished opening— and I stared at what it revealed in deep, awful dismay.

That massive door opened on a room that… well, it had to be at least the size of a football field, maybe a bit bigger. More than a hundred yards long, more than fifty yards wide, set slightly lower than the hall we stood in, the first twenty feet inside the door angled down sharply enough that the floor of the actual room was probably ten feet below that of the hall.

At the other end, a hundred and twenty yards or so away, I could see that the floor sloped back up to a massive wooden door, a single guard in front of it— something that I couldn't identify, save that it was the size of a really big human, had skin that looked to be dark gray, and black hair. Oh— and it wore something shiny, like armor.

That wasn't what left me feeling dismayed. No, the dismay came from the multitudes— maybe more than a _thousand_— of demons that filled the room between us and that door. They weren't shoulder to shoulder, but they were close to each other, close enough so that at no point could I hope to pass between any two of them without being grabbed.

I could see vampires in the dozens, all with their "game faces" on, were-creatures in five different varieties (wolf, lion, bear, rat and, actually worse than were-rat, several were-gators) wendigos, mummies, Glevens, Hurkulpos, Chiswinths, Miquots, Fyarls, Danzatans, P'korkins, Praxligs, Y'roraks, Groblods, Disfen, Welmacres, Farfelens, Gotlaks, Ba'ans, Chintors, H'lkordaks, Musravs, zombies— and many, many more monsters that I didn't recognize.

There was no way that we could take all of those things, even with the help of Harry Dresden, not unless he was the equivalent of Albus Dumbledore, Gandalf, Dr. Strange, Dr. Fate, the wizard Shazam, those three chicks from Charmed, and Zatanna, all rolled up into one— and _really_ pissed off.

I didn't even think I could fight a running battle— cripple and move, no stopping to kill, you know?— through that mess.

"Aunt Elaine couldn't _dance_ her way through that, not even if she was as good as Aunt Rose with a sword," I said softly, to myself. "Not even if she could throw like Mom and had my discs. Maybe Buffy could get through them, if she could do all of those things, too, but— but I'm the one who's got the burning desire to learn it all, not Buffy, she's happy with being the best there is _as_ she is, and she's not even here, so—"

I froze. _Burning desire…! _ The Guardians, when they had empowered me, when they told me they'd Chosen Mom and I both, they'd said….

_~We rejoiced, and we chose your mother then, rather than wait a year, that we might have a hand in making you what you are: The Blaze. You burn with a need to become all that a Slayer can become—_

_**—and you will fulfill your need.~**_

I _understood!_ I knew what the Guardians wanted me to do— and I thought I knew how to do it, too. All I needed was to be kick-started, given a nudge, and if Ian's Power of Hope or the magic of a wizard who'd "sort of jump-started the Scythe and caused there to be Slayers" on his world couldn't do that, what the heck could!?

"I think they've noticed us…." Piper said from beside me, her voice worried. "I could close the door, pretty sure, but I doubt I could open—"

"No," I said slowly. I looked over at her, and I smiled. "No, Piper. I know what… I know what I need to do." I leaned over and kissed her briefly, then said, much louder, "Guys, I need the three of you to cover me, to keep me safe— right here, I'm not going anywhere— for… I don't know how long, but if I'm right, and I have to be right, and I _am!_ I can… I can get to the other end, I can beat that whatever-it-is, and I can get to Catherine Madison.

"But I need you three to keep everything off of me for a… a couple of minutes, first."

Harry Dresden answered by stepping up to the doorway, looking down at the demons in front of us who were starting to move our way, leveling his staff at the front rank and bellowing "FULMINOS DIRUPTUM!" at the top of his lungs.

A ball of lightning leapt from his staff, and when it hit the Chiswinth demon at the front, it exploded _through_ the vaguely centaur-like thing, then branched out, hitting every demon within twenty yards or so.

"Cool!" Ian cried, and started to step up beside the wizard, even as Piper moved that way.

"Ian, wait," I said. "Come here and… look, just grab my arms, and hope like hell that I'm right, okay?"

Ian ran to stand in front of me, propped his staff against his own chest, and grabbed my wrists in his hands. The blue light of Hope's power was already shining from him, and it pulsed—

—and white light went off behind my eyes as I began to _burn, _to burn the way the Guardians had foreseen.


	47. Flames

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 47: Flames

_In the Trap:_

Thanks to Alex's and Chief's ghosts scouting for her, Joyce Harris was making decent time through the little "hack and slash dungeon" that Warren Mears had prepared for her— but not _too_ good. She had on a watch, knew how to look at it without being obvious, and did so in every room. She'd then pretend to dither over the choice until a couple of seconds before a room became a deathtrap, keeping one eye on the time-to-being-gassed. In those oh-so-precious seconds of time when she wasn't doing anything like trying to stay alive, she talked to her brother, telepathically, through Chief.

"Room seventeen," Alex said, pulling his head back through the door on her left and looking over his shoulder at Joyce, "has a D'winij demon— spider-looking thing, body about the size of a Bassett Hound, legs around two and half feet long each. It's on the ceiling over the door right across from this one."

_Okay, I know how to handle that, thanks,_ Joyce thought to Chief, who echoed her words to Alex almost as fast as she sent them. _So… will I see you again? After you get me through this, I mean. Is that… will I see you guys again?_

"Can't say for sure," Alex said, shrugging and looking a little uncomfortable. "Not about… you know, while you're alive. I mean… They say that it's not good for you to… you know, get hung up on me.

"Time's low. Go kill the spider-thing, then I'll pick this up."

Joyce went to the door that Alex had indicated, opened it, looked around, spotted the spider-demon, tossed her sword to her left hand, drew a stake from her belt with her right and threw it at the D'winij as it dropped to the floor. The stake hit the monster in one eye— butt-first, but still, it hurt the thing enough to give Joyce time to kill it with a quick stab from the silver-coated blade of her sword.

"Anyway," Alex said cheerfully as he looked through the next door to the right, to make sure that the demon in there hadn't moved or been swapped, then pulled his head back and looked at Joyce. "It's not good for you to be too wrapped up in having me around, Sis. I get that, and I agree, that's right. I mean— Mom misses Grandma Summers, but she doesn't dwell on it, you know?

"So I don't think you'll see me after this— much." Alex again gave her his signature too-big-grin, then said, "Unless, of course, you get into a sitch where the Powers feel the need to smack you with a Slayer dream. Then… well, you know, those can be full of scary stuff, so when it's possible, the Powers like to make that easier by sending the info through someone familiar.

"You get a Slayer dream? I'll be around. Past that… well, we'll meet up when you're through here, which had better be a long time off, or I'll kick your ass, and never mind that you're a Slayer.

"So if you've got any big things to say, you better say them before we go after Robo-Stooge, okay, Joyce?

"Other side of this door, a vamp who's smoking a big old stogey, in the corner to your left."

_Okay, I guess… I see their point,_ Joyce sent to Chief as she recovered her stake, then moved to the door Alex had indicated. _But… nothing big, Alex. Just that… I'm gonna get sappy before you go, so you're warned_.

"I can deal," Alex said, and he smiled a smaller, more quiet smile (one that, had Buffy seen it, she'd have recognized as the exact same smile his father wore when the kids made him especially proud) as his sister swept through the door and went after the vampire in the room. "I won't even complain, Sis. This time."

Joyce smacked the cigar that the vampire was holding to his mouth with the flat of her sword, sending a shower of sparks at the vamp's face, blinding the thing and making it roar in pain. She staked the vampire neatly, then stepped back and breathed deeply, looking around at the doors in the room as though Alex wasn't already saying, "Straight ahead this time, pair of zombies, standing stupid in the middle of the room."

_A minute ago, you said _we_ were going after Warren, Alex,_ Joyce thought as she visibly dithered over the choice she didn't have to make. _What do you mean?_

"He can't see me, Sis," Alex said, smiling a smile that, had Xander seen it, would have caused him to step back— it was the smile Buffy wore right before monsters she _really_ hated started dying at her hands. "And I'm not solid, despite looking that way.

"But both of those? I can change them for a little while— and when we get to him, I'm damned sure _gonna!"_

Joyce smiled her own Buffy-in-Full-Slayer-Mode smile and thought, _I like that idea. I like that idea a whole_ lot!

She went to the door into room number nineteen, flung it open, and sighed audibly. "Zombies. I hate zombies!"

Then she was moving, and the ghost of Alex Harris stood back to watch his sister take the "un-" out of undead.

_**88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888**_

_Jocelyn:_

It was a plain white place, not really a room, just a place— no features at all.

Unless, of course, you counted the seven women standing off to one side, all of them as real and solid as me, but dressed for Long Ago, for a time before "once upon a time," even. They were all different ages, one looking only a little older than me, one looking ninety years older than, say, dinosaurs. The shortest was under five feet, the tallest almost six feet. The woman in front looked a healthy forty, had an absolute _mane_ of wild brown hair that hung to her knees, big dark eyes, and a staff that had been heavily carved with symbols and runes.

I bowed to those seven women, deeply, the scythe laying across my forearms, my eyes up and on the woman in the center. They all bowed back, even the older ones, and when we all straightened, the woman at front and center of their group spoke.

"You have found your way," that woman said. "It is well.

"Know that while you are in this state of being, no time will pass in the world you work so mightily to save, Jocelyn. You will have to leave here between learnings, but you will be able to get back in on your own, you will not again need Hope's Favored to help you achieve this state of oneness with the Scythe.

"What you need in order to learn will appear as you need it, Daughter of the Genuine and the Knight.

"Know also that this will not work after we begin empowering the others. Once there are more than a dozen or so Slayers, the… connection that is imparted by the Scythe is dimmed too much for this level of communication… and communing.

"Now… Blaze, child!"

And they vanished, just like that.

I took a deep breath, and I thought about it. I knew what to do, and that I could do it, but it might be best to start with something that I was a natural at, and, while I am a natural marksman, my mom? Way better than me, still. Okay. I'd start the learning with Mom.

"Mom…." I said it aloud, my eyes closed, thinking of her. I thought of hugging her, how she'd taught me that either you hugged all out, whole-body-whole-attention, or you just didn't bother, of how patient she was with me, even when I was being a brat, of how easily she took to teaching other newbies the basics of archery, knife throwing, and stake throwing. I thought of her laugh, and how when she was either delighted or upset, her voice started getting more deeply Southern. "Mom, I need some help."

"Well, honey, I reckon I can help with whatever you need," my mom said from right in front of me, and I felt her arms slide around me as she pulled me close to hug me. "But maybe you should oughtta tell me where the hell we are an' how the hell we got here, first?"

"Yes, ma'am!" I laughed, hugging her fiercely. "It's the Scythe, Mom. The connection we all feel sometimes? Because there are so few of us using that connection, right now, I can use the Scythe to… well, to bring me and another Slayer together, any of the active ones. And time? In here, we've got technically all the time there is, and no time's passing out there— so I can get all the training you can give me, Mom, on throwing and shooting and… well, anything else you can teach me to make me a better Slayer.

"I'm going to have to be the best Slayer I can be, Mom, because what I've got to get through to get to Catherine Madison… Mom, it's a sitch that, to be blunt, I don't think _Buffy_ could get through right now.

"But if I learn everything you can teach me about throwing and shooting, about choosing targets, and— and whatever else you can teach me, and then do that with Aunt Rose and swords and general fighting, and Aunt Elaine and Capoeira and acrobatics and dancing— hell, just anything she can teach me about _moving_— and Faith and letting my instincts do what they have to without shutting off my brain, and then go to Buffy and get her to teach me to put all that together…?

"Then maybe I can do what I have to, maybe I can get to that witch before she kills the world."

" 'The Blaze,' " Mom said, her voice soft and proud. She kissed my cheek, grinned and said, "Let's start with knives, sugar, an' work our way up."

I turned to look behind me, and the white was gone, replaced with an indoor target range, and racks upon racks of things to be thrown or shot, though nothing that was powered by more than simple leverage— crossbows, basically. No guns, we Slayers don't use them.

"Okay, Mom," I said, and followed her to the closest weapons rack, which had knives of all shapes and sizes on it.

That's how it started. That's how the fire inside me found the fuel it needed in order to burn.

_**88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888**_

_Eastland Mall, Aboveground:_

Dawn, with the help of the Amberites Fiona and Merlin, found the place where the demons were entering the mall in only a few minutes of spell-work. Because their magics were of a type that could be dangerous with the way various "shadows" (just "other worlds" to Dawn) were crossing over, Dawn had to work the closing mostly by herself, though she discovered that Fiona was excellent at checking her working for flaws, and Merlin could offer alternative power sources for the magic. This made her feel better about the things she was doing, because by not drawing too heavily on what Dawn thought of as the ambient magic of her own world, not processing that through her mind and soul, she reduced the risk of using too much power— of going Dark.

Unfortunately, either Catherine Madison had no such worries or the energies she was using were opening other passages as a side effect of their use. Ten minutes after Dawn shut off the access point that various monsters and demons were using to get to the mall to attack Team Slayer, START and their otherworldly allies, barely three minutes after the last of that incursion, more demons arrived— and the battle was joined again.

This time, the surge was bigger, as though the demons had kept trying to come through for the ten minutes that their way had been blocked, and when the way opened, overpressure sent more through faster.

The fighting got nasty, and the small teams that had been established had mostly been broken up by the brief rest the defenders had gotten between waves. Buffy found herself fighting side-by-side with Xander, working their way towards Judith Holmes, who was fighting next to Whitey and a trio of START soldiers. River Tam stood between her brother the doctor and his patients and a wave of incoming demons, a half a dozen lightly wounded soldiers helping her keep the monsters from overwhelming those who couldn't defend themselves, aided by the little guy who seemed to be in charge of the Amberites and the blond woman who fought so very efficiently with saber and poniard.

Buffy didn't see Giles, or Graham, or Dawn and her two Amberite helpers, but that wasn't surprising— the furball was thick and nasty, and there wasn't time to look everywhere, not if she wanted to survive and keep as many of her team alive as possible.

Then Buffy heard a shout, heard Giles— a trained singer, with a singer's projection— cry "DAWN, LOOK OUT!"

She turned back towards the place near the T-junction some fifty yards away, where Dawn, Fiona and Merlin had gone to close down the demons' access, and were now working again, saw Dawn raise a hand as she said a single word, and the incoming streak of painfully bright purple energy that had been headed for her ricocheted up and over the trio.

Then Buffy saw Giles, fighting alone, standing over an injured or dead START soldier with his longsword, saw the influx of demons that had noticed him thanks to his shout— and she started to run that way, because he was only one man, only human, and there were so many of them.

_Too_ many.

"GILES!" Buffy yelled. "HANG ON, I'M COMING!"

She ran faster, leapt up on the wide wooden railing that separated the mall's floor from a series of now-inactive fountains along the wall, and when the demons between her and her Watcher noticed her and started to try to intercept her, Buffy simply leapt into the air, jumped over the reaching demons, leapt farther than she had since… since the day the Scythe had activated all the potential Slayers around the world, when she'd managed outrun the collapse of Sunnydale into the monstrous pit that was all the closing of that Hellmouth left behind and leap onto a speeding bus.

It wasn't enough.

Even as Buffy hit the floor some twenty feet from the crowd of demons surrounding her Watcher, she saw a vampire grab him from behind and pin his sword arm for just a moment, long enough for another demon, something with claws long enough to use for rulers, to slam its claws into Giles's torso, right below the sternum— and angled up.

Then it jerked those claws out, and Giles's abdomen seemed to explode.

"NO!" Buffy screamed, anger, fear, sadness and loss tearing through her.

Giles let out a single harsh coughing sound, wrenched his arm free of the vampire, beheaded the demon that had just effectively killed him— and collapsed to the ground.

Buffy hit the group then, fists and feet flying, the broad sword she'd grabbed from the hand of a dead Hurkulpo (that had been using the sword like a the dagger it looked like in the monstrous demon's hand) slashing and stabbing so fast that the few monsters who survived her initial assault simply fled.

Buffy dropped beside Giles, saw him open his eyes— and smile up at her.

Somehow, he managed to gather the breath to speak. "This is not your fault," Giles said, his voice soft, but utterly implacable. "It isn't Dawn's fault, or… anyone's really."

"Giles, stop talking, just hang on—"

"Buffy." She stopped talking herself, and met the eyes of the man who had been her father in all but blood for the last twenty-one years. "No man… could have hoped… for better daughters than Rose… Elaine… poor, lost Laurie… Dawn… and you, my dear child. Or a more wonderful son… than Riley."

Xander knelt beside Buffy, started emptying the first aid pouch on his belt— then stopped when he really looked at the disaster that was Rupert Giles's torso. "Oh, god, no."

"Xander." Giles smiled. "Son. The Council… it's yours now. You… lead them. Care for them….

"You two… take care of Kelly and Riley… Dawn… Rose… Elaine… Joyce… each… other.

"I…."

Rupert Giles tried to say something more, but even his near-legendary force of will could not keep his consciousness in his ruined body any longer.

Even as Xander sobbed harshly, he reached up and closed the eyes of the greatest Watcher the world had ever known.

Buffy… Buffy stood up, screamed in a mixture of rage and pain— and started killing monsters, using those emotions so effectively that soon, monsters again started to retreat from her, to simply flee from the worst nightmare they had ever encountered.

Then they were gone, and Dawn was there, grabbing Buffy and sobbing, and things got blurry for a time….

The battle seemed to be over, at least for the moment, and the remains of Team Slayer, START and their allies gathered around the body of Rupert Giles, now mercifully covered by the jacket of a START soldier.

No one said anything for a long moment, then Xander spoke.

"Someone get his body back to the planter where the kids vanished," he said, his voice unsteady at first, but growing more calm as he went on. "There is no way in _hell_ that we're leaving him here, but I don't want… there's no need to distract the team at the entrance by… moving him up there."

Without a word, Graham himself stepped forward, scooped up Giles's body, and carried it back to the planter.

"This is… awful." Xander gulped once, then said more loudly, "This is awful. It's… I can't even say how much this hurts.

"But there are two things that we need to do now. First, we need to…. Everyone needs to know, to understand, that this? This is no one's fault except Warren Mears's and Catherine Madison's. Period. None of us are to blame, and so help me Zeus, if I see or hear any of you looking or sounding like you want to try and take the blame for it, or put it on anyone who _isn't_ Warren or Catherine, I will— I will find a way to let Giles's ghost know, and _have_ _him haunt you!_

"Second… we need to get ready, because this? It's not the end of the battle. It's just intermission.

"We've still got a world to save— and we're going to do just that!

"Whitey! Work with Graham, get START teams organized to back up you and Judith, me and Buffy, all the groups we're going to form, now.

"All other groups are a minimum of three people before START backup, and I don't really care who you are or whether you're a king or a captain— this is the kind of fight that me and mine know how to fight, and we're going to fight it. Your help is welcome— on our terms. You can't do that, get on the sidelines."

No one argued, they just moved to obey his orders— and Xander took a moment to reach for his wife, hug her tightly, and tremble.

"You're doing… you sounded just like Giles just now, Xander," Buffy said, and she looked up at him. "I… needed that. Thanks."

"Yeah, well, I just— Buffy, I'm scared out of my tiny rabbit _mind,_ okay?" Xander said, and he shivered once. "I don't know if I can—"

"Stop right there!" Buffy said, her voice quiet, but hard. "Alexander Harris, Giles chose you for a _reason!_

"It was the right choice, Xander. _You're_ the right choice. You know how seriously I take this, that if I didn't think you were the man for the job, I'd tell you that.

"But you are the right man. You gave the right orders, and I let you, despite the fact that only Slayers are supposed to give orders— _because_ they were the right ones."

Xander met his wife's eyes for a moment, then said, "Okay. Okay, Buffy.

"Sorry, I just—"

Buffy let out a small sound, then, a little gasp of surprise, and said in a small voice, "Wait, I feel… Jocelyn?"

Then white light went off behind the Prime Slayer's eyes, and she found herself somewhere else.

_**88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888**_

_Jocelyn:_

After what felt like weeks, maybe even months of training, unbroken by breaks for food or sleep— in the place that I thought of as "inside the Scythe," I never felt hungry, thirsty, tired, or anything— broken only by frequent breaks for just sitting and talking or snuggling with Mom, we said our goodbyes, hugged long and hard, and Mom… just vanished. I closed my eyes, thought of the world outside, and was there when I opened my eyes.

As soon as I opened my eyes, I started… well, something between a hard shiver and a vibration. It shocked poor Ian, who let go of me— he was still there, holding on to my wrists— and stepped back, then said, "Jocelyn, are you okay?"

I let the shuddering vibration that was my muscles absorbing everything that my mind had just learned from my mom finish— that took a few more seconds— then said, my voice calm, if a little unsteady, "I'm fine, Ian— and I can't take time to explain.

"You did it. You got me started. Thank you— but I can do the rest, now, go help the others. I should be joining you… really soon. Just got some more to learn, first."

Ian looked at me oddly, then said softly, "Ooooh. I get it. 'Burn, baby, burn!' "

I laughed and said, "Yeah. Time to feed the flames some more," and Ian grinned and turned back towards the battle.

Even as I closed my eyes, Harry Dresden hollered, "You have got to be kidding me— sending vampires against the wizard who's been known to shout _FUEGO!"_

I heard the roar of flames, the shriek-and-paff of a lot of vampires dusting, and Piper laughed and said, "Holy crap, Johnny Storm should be jealous, Harry!"

I grinned, focused on the Scythe, and found myself again in the white place outside of time. I took a deep breath and thought of my Aunt Rose, tiny, fierce Aunt Rose who had taught me ninety-five percent of everything I knew about using the sword on my back, most of what I knew about using a spear, half of what I knew about staff fighting, a third of my hand-to-hand skills— and who had turned me on to Terry Pratchett's Discworld, the Codex Alera and the Atticus Kodiak novels. Aunt Rose, whose skill with violence was equaled by her skill with words, whose sheer guts and determination were why my world was lucky enough to have pseudo dragons in it, and who was one of only four people who could regularly keep up with me at "Slayer Trivial Pursuits."

"Homina ho-boy!" Aunt Rose gasped as she appeared in the again-empty white place with me. I reached for a hug, and she reached back, hugged me tightly, and said, "What goes on, Jocelyn?"

"First, time doesn't exist here— it'll be like you blinked really fast when you go back.

"Second… Aunt Rose, things are about to get a kind of ugly that I never thought I'd have to face, Battle of the First _and_ Battle of Bloomington ugly, all at once— and I need to be better than I am if I'm going to get to Catherine Madison to stop her.

"Third… sword and hand-to-hand… teach me all of both of them that you know, please?"

Aunt Rose grinned, looked around at the white place that had suddenly become a fully equipped martial arts school with the equipment she used to teach kung fu and that Dad used to teach Hwa Rang Do, and said, "Okay, grasshopper, let's start by reviewing what you already know, then we can go from there."

I grinned— and added still more fuel to the fire.

_**88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888**_

Again, I opened my eyes and did that shiver-shudder-vibrate thing as my muscles absorbed all that Aunt Rose had just taught me, and I took a moment to glance around. Ian was just finishing his turn back to the battle, going to stand halfway between Harry Dresden, who now had a shorter stick in his right hand, his staff in his left, and Piper, who was fighting eight or nine demons at once— and laughing as she did so.

As I watched for a sec, Piper leapt above them, landing on the shoulders of two, webbed the rest heavily in place with web sprayed from her fingers, then flipped to the ground behind the two she'd stood on, grabbed their heads, and slammed them together with a sound like two concrete blocks being smacked together by a strong man. As they fell, Piper waded into those she'd webbed, grabbed her axe off of her hip and began to behead the others.

I smiled, knowing that so far, my friends— old and new— were kicking ass and taking names, and closed my eyes.

Aunt Elaine. Aunt Elaine, who had become, in my mind, grace personified, who moved with a fluidity that dolphins had to envy, whose every move was a dance. Aunt Elaine, who had taken a childhood dream and made it real, who had given the world Dance the Heavens Home and Souls, Like Scattered Stars…. Aunt Elaine, for whom Capoeira was even more of a "core fighting style" than it was for me, who, as much as Uncle Ballard, had taught me what I knew about Capoeira, about dance and much of what I knew about acrobatics— and who had taken me into space for the first time….

"What the heck?" Aunt Elaine said. "Jocelyn, where are we?"

"Inside the Scythe, I think," I said, hugging her. "Outside of time, I know.

"In here? No time. No tired. No hungry, no thirsty… and whatever we need for training materials will be here.

"I need to know everything you can teach me, Aunt Elaine, about Capoeira, acrobatics, dancing— anything that even might apply to fighting or moving through a fight. I've got to run hell's own gauntlet to get to Catherine Madison, and right now… I'm not stupid enough to think I'm good enough. But maybe, after learning everything that the rest of you currently empowered can teach me? Maybe I will be."

Aunt Elaine looked at me for a long moment, then smiled, slowly. "Jocelyn… that sounds like a _great_ idea!"

She led me into the space behind me, which had become something that was equal parts dance studio, acrobatics gymnasium, and dojo, and we started to work.

That… that was my longest set of lessons, because… because as much fun as this was, it was also _deadly-damned-serious,_ and time might not have mattered outside, but inside, it did seem to pass, and Aunt Elaine… she made me play, some, too. And for play, she taught me something that had no impact at all on what I was about to do, but that…. Look, what she taught me for the sake of fun, millions of people would have _paid_ her to teach them, some of them millions of dollars, even— but for her, _teaching me to dance in zero FREAKING gravity_ was as much fun for her as me— or maybe more. She decided to see if the space inside the Scythe could do zero gravity, and once it had… she taught me.

No practical applications at all— but so much fun that I relaxed immensely, and came away from that my time with Aunt Elaine feeling relaxed and refreshed. It was _heavenly!_

_**88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888**_

I opened my eyes, vibro-shivered, and looked around. Status still quo, no problems evident. I watched Piper finish off the monsters she'd webbed in place, then looked over at Harry Dresden where he stood laughing at a pair of vampires that were hammering on some sort of force field that he had placed in front of himself.

"I'm sorry, guys," he chortled. "I know it's rude to laugh, but after fighting Black Court vampires? You guys are kinda pathetic!"

Then Ian, who'd strolled casually over while Harry kept the vamps distracted, laid a hand on the back of each one's neck, the lines of Hope flared on his hands— and the vampires burst into flames.

"Thanks, Ian," Harry said with a cheesy smirk. He dropped his force field— seemed to be coming from a bracelet— and leveled his staff down the ramp in front of him. "Don't think I would've done this in anything you read, guy— watch.

"_GLOBUS LACERTORUM!"_

What ever that did, it made monsters and demons howl in pain and anger— and Ian and Harry both laugh aloud.

I smiled, closed my eyes, and thought of Faith Kilpatrick. Faith, who could operate on instinct and do as well or better than some Slayers with a planned attack or defense, whose wild, sometimes crazy style made her unpredictable to enemies, and who used that unpredictability like a finely honed weapon. Faith, who I had crushed on so hard it was pathetic, when I was eleven or so and her, Angel and Helena had spent a month of the summer in Normal, and who had tactfully ignored that until I got over it.

"Whoa, what the hell, kiddo?" Faith said, sounding mildly freaked.

"It's okay, Faith," I said, and I shook her hand, didn't hug her— she wasn't much of a casual hugger outside of a pretty small circle that I wasn't part of. "This is… it's inside the Scythe, I think, and in here? Time doesn't pass. Which is good, because I need to learn a bunch of stuff, and there's not much time."

"What the heck can I teach you?" Faith asked, and she sounded honestly puzzled.

I rolled my eyes and said, "I don't know, how about letting go of my brain, so that the bad guys can't predict what I'll do next? You're only the best there is at that— according to _Buffy_."

"Well, crap, I… I don't know if I can teach that, y'know," Faith said, sounding a little uncomfortable. "I mean… I didn't so much learn it, yo, as just start _doin'_ it."

"Can't hurt to try, right?" I said, grinning. "Come on, Faith— take a shot at it. We've got all the time we could ever need, this place will become whatever sort of training space you need… how about it?"

That made her look interested. "Anything I need, huh?" She grinned, suddenly, and said, "Well, I can try— but you may not like it." She nodded at a point behind me, and I turned to see what looked, for all the world, like somebody crossed an obstacle course with a Brian-Keller-designed, automated, nearly robot-ized, security system.

"Welcome to my version of the Danger Room, kiddo," Faith said, her voice smug. "And remember— you asked for it!"

I let out a sound between a laugh and a groan and said, "Where do I start?"

_**88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888**_

I opened my eyes, vibro-shivered as muscle-memory caught up with mental memory, and grinned. Faith had given me a long, tight hug before we left Scythe-space, which made me feel pretty groovy— I'd been admitted to that circle of people she'd hug, seemed like.

Harry and Ian were still laughing, and Piper was turning to see what they were laughing about as I looked up. Whatever it was, it made her bust out laughing, too, and she called, "Hey, Harry— you have to do that again when Jocelyn's ready to start her run for the prize, it'll help!"

"I can do that," Harry allowed, and suddenly looked thoughtful. "You know, I'm not feeling any drain, here, despite being pretty liberal with the power. I mean, I've gotten a lot better these last eight years or so, thanks to Lash, mostly, but still… this must be a high-magic world. Which means no real danger of running out if I get a little bit crazy, so… think I will!"

Harry Dresden turned, looked down the ramp at something I couldn't see, took a few steps down the ramp, raised his staff overhead and slammed it into the ground with both hands, roaring "FLAM-MAMURUS!" as he did so.

I heard the concrete crack, heard a sound somewhere between a dull roar and the sloshing of thick liquid— and a wide sheet of lava appeared, apparently fountaining up from a crack in the floor that, by the look of it, went all the way across the room.

"That," Harry said, his breathing a little hard, "will slow down anything that hates fire for a good few minutes."

"That's c— awesome," Ian said, and turned to watch the lava fountain up. "I was gonna say cool, but I don't think that'd work…."

Harry and Piper laughed, and I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and prepared to do the most important of my "training sessions," the one that would (I hoped) let me put everything together so that I could do what had to be done.

Buffy. Buffy, whom I admired more than I could ever express. Who had saved the world more than anyone else ever had, who had taught me, in her summer visits to Giles, how to put together the things that everyone else had taught me. Buffy, who had made it so that there was an army of Slayers. Yes, Willow had done the spell that made it happen, but Buffy had thought of it. Buffy, who was the mother of a friend I loved dearly, had been the mother of two— and when she lost her son, she hadn't let that cripple her, hadn't let it cripple any of us. She had grieved for Alex, grieved for him still, but she used it, made it work for her.

Buffy. The Prime Slayer. The woman I wanted to be as much like as I could, who could take everything I'd learned over the last… well, _bunch of_ _years,_ subjective time, and make it into not four disciplines that overlapped, but one seamless way of dealing with whatever got between me and saving my world.

"Jocelyn?" I opened my eyes and saw Buffy in front of me, looking confused— and she'd been crying, which scared me. "Where are we, Slayer?"

"Inside the Scythe," I said, stepping forward and taking one of her hands. She pulled me into a long, firm hug, and I added, "I think, anyway. No matter— we're where time doesn't pass in the outside world while we're here.

"Buffy… what happened? Is… is everyone all right?"

Buffy took a shuddery breath, and said, "Jocelyn… I don't… there's no way to… Giles."

Her voice broke on that last word, and I burst into tears of shock and hurt and anger, because I didn't need her to say the rest.

We clung to each other and cried for a while, and when we wound down, Buffy said, "Thanks, Jocelyn— being able to let go like that, to take the time… it'll make it easier to fight when I go back.

"So… why am I here?"

I looked her in the eyes and said, "I've been using this place to train. Mom, Aunt Rose, Aunt Elaine, Faith… they've all taught me everything I could learn about fighting, moving, swords, throwing things, letting the instincts work with the brain better, Capoeira, Hwa Rang Do, kung fu… all of that.

"I need you to help me make it one style, Buffy, to teach me to use those things together, without thinking about it or planning or anything— because there's so many monsters between me and Catherine Madison that I'll never get through them all without everything I just learned, and all of it working together."

Buffy looked at me, and a slow smile spread across her face. "I get it. 'The Blaze.' I get it, now.

"I'll do what I can, Jocelyn, but there's… I need to know what happened to Joyce?"

"She got pulled away from us by a Gleven," I answered immediately. "Warren ordered it, and he made some noise after— but Aunt Dawn, she told me in the note she sent with the Scythe that Joyce had help…."

"That's what we were told, yeah," Buffy said, shaking her head nervously. "It's just… I can't stop worrying."

"That's good, I'd be scared if you could," I said. I took a deep breath and looked around. At some point during the conversation, the empty white around us had filled with… not training equipment, it had become a… store of some sort? I could see rooms off of it in three directions, two "back rooms" with stuff that we could use for training, and what looked liked a totally modern gymnasium through the door that should have led to the street. "Uh, where are we?"

Buffy looked around, looked sad for a moment, then said, "The Magic Box. The store Giles owned in Sunnydale? That room over there is where I trained while he owned the place, the one the other way (where the shop's main stockroom was in the real world) looks like… the library at the high school, where we trained back then. And through the door to the street is the gym Xander and I used for training our Slayers in New York.

"I guess… Giles is kinda on my mind right now."

"I like that." I took a deep breath and said, "So… what do you think? Can you help?"

"Pretty sure, yeah," Buffy said, smiling at me. "Of course, you're gonna have to show me everything you can do, and maybe teach me some of it, before I can really start helping you put it all together."

I nodded and said, "Okay, well, pick a room, and let's get started."

Buffy nodded at the training room that she had used while Giles owned the Magic Box, I followed her in there— and we went to work.


	48. The Fire Inside

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 48: The Fire Inside

_Jocelyn:_

It seemed like years, inside the Scythe with Buffy— because she taught me everything I had asked her to, and then some.

My being Chosen, the things the spirits of the Guardians that lived in the Scythe had said to me, those had erased all my doubts and started me back on track. I had thought I _was_ back on track. Buffy felt differently— and proved to me that I was still not really thinking perfectly clearly, though I had recovered all of my combat skills in the process of improving them.

But when Buffy did the equivalent of Daddy's "tactical simulations" with me, I kept making little mistakes. Nothing huge, and I never succeeded less than nine times out of ten— but even in the wins, I made choices that, while they weren't wrong, weren't the best choices.

That wasn't good enough for Buffy, not with everything that was on the line. She worked me over and over, usually while we trained physically, saying that this would be how it was in the field, fighting and thinking at the same time.

I got up to her requirements eventually, and the way she grinned and nodded her approval when I did made it worth all the work.

Oh, she insisted we play some, too. We played cribbage, she taught me to play double solitaire, we played chess (she beat me a lot, at first, but eventually, we stalemated almost every time), she turned our workout space into batting cages, driving ranges, we played racquetball and handball, and Buffy thought up some truly _wicked_ mini-golf courses while we were in there. We stayed sane, and we both took more time than we should have even _had_ to grieve for Giles.

Buffy finally said, "Okay, Slayer— you're as good as anyone I've ever met. You're ready."

I let out a long sigh, nodded, and said, "Thank you, Buffy. I've got a real chance at getting through Catherine's little gauntlet, thanks to you and the others.

"But I'm not _quite_ ready to make my run. There's one thing left to do first."

"What's that?" she asked when I didn't elaborate.

"Not so long ago, Daddy said something about how Piper and I should both help train other girls, and… well, I kind of like the idea." Buffy looked puzzled, and I said, very softly, "I thought I might start small… say a class of one, and all the time we could ever ask for to teach her all the stuff that Mom, Aunt Rose, Aunt Elaine, Faith and you taught me…."

Buffy got it, then— I could tell because of her sudden lunge-grab-hug-super-hard and gasped "Thank you! Thank you Jocelyn!"

"I love her, too," I said, hugging back just as hard as she was hugging me. "And even if I don't get to see it, the idea of her going all _sorts_ of Slayer on one of Warren's asses? Yeah. I'm all over that!"

Buffy laugh-sniffled, squeezed me once more, and kissed my cheek. "Okay. Can we stay here a minute more? I want to get myself back under control before we leave."

I didn't mind, and since time didn't matter, I sat down on a stool behind the counter in the Magic Box and dealt a cribbage hand— just the one hand, not a whole game, just to give her time to gather herself. We played it, she won, then I hugged her once more— and left that place where I had become a better Slayer than I had ever been before.

_**88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888**_

_In the Trap:_

"Okay, sis," Alex Harris said, and gave his sister a deliberately casual smile as she straightened from killing a Bledenth, a demon that usually put people in mind of an unholy mating between a baboon and a jellyfish. "Here we go. Room number twenty five. Inside we have a lovely Hurkulpo demon for you— you always did like purple, right?"

Joyce almost slipped and spoke aloud, clamped her mouth shut at the last second and thought at Chief, _A freaking HURKULPO is the easiest of the three choices!? Seriously!?_

"Yeah, it is," Alex said, and he kept his smile on. "Other choices are a freaking Turok-han and a Nezzla.

"Come on, sis— Hurkulpos are big and vicious, but they're slow and dumb. Also, he's humming and kind of dancing in place, so he's bored. You can handle him."

_Well, okay,_ Joyce sent. _Which way is he facing?_

"He's facing the corner to your right, almost a perfect forty-five degrees to you," Alex said after poking his head through the door to double check. "Still humming and not so much dancing as… rocking from foot to foot, I guess. Like he's doing the 'Gotta Pee Dance,' you know?"

"Okay." Joyce went to the door and said, still aloud, "Number twenty-five.

"Here goes nothing!"

Joyce opened the door, found the Hurkulpo— a little over eight feet tall, at least four and a half feet across the shoulders, colored a not-quite-deep purple, nude and disturbingly male— standing as her brother had told her.

It didn't notice her, so Joyce did the only logical thing; she took two steps and lunged, sword at full extension, just as Lydia had taught her, body a straight line from right wrist to left heel.

The sword sank into the Hurkulpo's groin for half of the thirty-two-inch blade's length, and the Hurkulpo screamed a surprisingly high scream and doubled over, clutching at it's ruined genitals. Joyce pulled back just in time— yes, Hurkulpos were slow, but apparently, they had some analog to an adrenaline gland, and her attack had given the gigantic demon a burst of speed— and, as the thing dropped to its knees, moved to one side, leaped as high as she could, and came down swinging her sword.

The Hurkulpo's head didn't come off, but the blow severed its spinal cord just below the skull, and the demon slumped over dead.

For a moment, nothing else happened, then there came a click from the ceiling, and Warren's voice said, "Would you look at that? Baby Slayer's got some moves— not like that'll be enough.

"But you know, I'm impressed. Also, I'm generous— and I want to be sure this is… I want to make sure you have a chance, no matter how small it is.

"Take five minutes to rest, pumpkin. I'll open the door on your left when it's time to come to me, and there won't be anything between us but a short hall and one more door. Once the door opens, you have thirty seconds to come through it before I gas you, so no lollygagging!

"Five minute timer starts _now_."

"Guess it's time for you to get all sappy on me, sis," Alex said, his voice low and emotional. " 'Cause I'm saving my solid for the fight, and… well, I'll make it last long enough to… you know, to hug you, then… I'll have to go back, and I don't think… I don't think either of us will be real good for much talking then, you know?"

_I know,_ Joyce sent, her mental voice calm despite the tears and sniffles of her body. She thought Warren would think those the symptoms of fear, and made no effort to control them, wanting any advantage she could get. _Alex_….

Joyce said what she needed to say, the things she hadn't said often enough in life, and Alex said them back, as well as telling her how proud he was that his sister had followed in their mother's footsteps and "become a badass."

They had progressed to reminiscing about the first time they saw their mother fight when the door to Joyce's left swung open.

"It's time," Alex said simply, and watched as Joyce stood and stretched, then wiped at her face with her hands. "I'll hold off on going visible and solid until you need the distraction most, sis.

"Let's go kill this thing, what do you say?"

Joyce nodded, thought _Yes, let's,_ and turned to walk down the twenty foot long hall to the single door at the end.

She opened the door, stepped in, and found Warren, wearing his Jared-Leto-looking face, standing in the middle of a simple forty-by-forty foot room, completely unadorned save for the multiple light fixtures inset in the twenty-foot-high ceiling and a plain metal desk against the far wall. He nodded at her and said, "You know, your mom… I hate the bitch, but, wow— I gotta give her some credit. She trained you really well, considering how little time there was to do it. You did the dungeon like a champ, kid.

"But now it's time to fight the dungeon master— and this is one fight you don't have the stuff to win."

"Maybe not," Joyce said, and stretched once, trying hard to conceal her shivering. "Did you do like you said? Damp your power? Or will you cheat?"

Warren's head cocked to one side, and a click issued from somewhere inside him, followed by a female voice that she almost recognized (Jocelyn would have known it— it was the voice of the computer called "Mother" from Alien) said (without Warren's mouth moving), "Generator power at fifty percent output. Warning: At this power level, form-reconfiguration and force field utilities will not function. Please confirm."

"Confirmed," Warren said. "In addition, lock power generator at fifty percent until this mobile is destroyed, or the human being in this room is dead."

"This requires override authorization," the female voice said, again without Warren's lips moving.

"Override authorization 'Sonny, Call, Bishop, Ash,' " Warren said, grinning a disturbing grin.

"Override confirmed." There came another click, and Warren tilted his head back to upright.

"Okay, then." Joyce took a deep breath and said, her voice rather shaky, "You murdered my brother just because my mom kicked your stupid ass like, fifteen _years_ ago. You killed Chief, his pseudo dragon friend, because he tried to make you pay for that. You tried to kill me, nearly did kill Kalyani Ravinuthala because she protected me. You killed Royal, Jocelyn's pseudo dragon when he kept you from killing _her_.

"You killed a lot of Watchers and Slayers and people who were just ranch hands and teachers out in Montana. You're trying to enable a crazy woman to do something that will either screw the world up completely, or outright end it.

"But for me… for me the worst of it is that _**YOU KILLED MY BROTHER, YOU SON OF A ROOMBA!**_

"For that… _I'm going to kill you!"_

Joyce leapt, sword back to strike—

—and Warren jumped forward and caught her by the shoulders before she could swing, squeezed hard enough that she dropped the weapon.

"Or, you know, maybe not," Warren said— and he grinned. "What have you got to say now, toots?"

Joyce opened her mouth to answer— then suddenly cocked her head and said, her voice surprised, "Jocelyn?"

"That won't do any good, kid, I'm not gonna fall for it," Warren said, smirking. "So you can just— what the HELL!?"

He was looking Joyce Harris in the eyes, and suddenly… suddenly he saw the Slayer weapon, the Scythe, _glowing white in the center of Joyce's pupils!_

_**88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888**_

_Jocelyn:_

One last check on reality, and I'd be going to teach Joyce everything I'd learned. I opened my eyes, and this time, the vibratory shuddering went on for a good fifteen seconds as my body made acquaintance with everything that my mind had learned.

Harry Dresden and Ian were laughing at a bunch of vampires who'd decided that the lava was an illusion, and were dusting as they tried to jump through it. Piper was cheerfully beating the snot out of a half a dozen demons that looked a lot like someone crossed a cricket and a gorilla, things that could apparently jump high enough to come over Harry's lava wall. (Given the look of their hind legs, it probably hadn't even been a tough jump.)

Even as I grinned at Piper's acrobatic fighting style— she was tumbling around the gorillickets at such a sped that none of them could even begin to hit her, occasionally lashing out with fist, foot or webbing as she did so— she said, "Come on, guys— I'm just saying that if Chester Cricket could play classical music, with legs like those? You fellas ought to be able to crank out some old AC/DC!"

I laughed softly, closed my eyes— and thought of Joyce Harris. Joyce, who had been my friend for as long as I could remember. Joyce… her mother's features, her father's hair and eyes, smaller than her mother, for now, at least. Joyce, who had borne up so well under the death of her brother (at least on the outside, and at the very least, better than I would have). Joyce, who had thrown herself into learning to be a Slayer from the day after she'd been granted the power early with such fervor that she was already carrying her weight as part of a team. Joyce Samantha Harris, whom I loved dearly, and for whom I could do so much, thanks to those who had done so much for me….

"What the hell?" Joyce said, and I opened her eyes to see her staring at me in shock and maybe a trace of worry. "Jocelyn, I need to go back, Warren's got hold of me, and—"

"It's okay, Joyce," I said, and grinned at her. "Time doesn't pass at all while we're here— we're inside the Scythe, and I've been here enough to know what I'm talking about."

"Inside— huh?"

"The connection that we always feel to other Slayers?" I said, grinning. "You know, it's never very strong, but we tend to know there are other Slayers around? Well, right now, because there are so few of us, that connection is _much_ stronger and I can use that to connect with another Slayer— and in here, the environment is under our control, and there is no such thing as time outside while we're inside.

"I've learned everything that my mom, Aunt Rose, Aunt Elaine, Faith and _your_ mom could teach me, Joyce— and I'm about to teach it to you."

"Oh, man…" she said, smiling a smile so much like Alex's big cheesy grin that it almost hurt to see it, "I knew I could take him before, with Alex's help— but now?

"I'm going to _slaughter_ that son of a refrigerator!"

I blinked, looked at her, and said, "With… with Alex's help!? What the heck are—?"

"Alex's ghost is helping me," Joyce said, and she gave me a smile that said that she was telling me the absolute truth. "Him and Chief both came back for… long enough to help."

She told me everything, and I grinned more and more widely, even as tears ran down my cheeks— mirroring Joyce on both counts.

"The Complete!" I laughed when she was through. "I get it— this… you've made your peace with what happened to him?"

"Almost," Joyce said, her smile still there, but kind of sad. "I've said all the things I had to, anyway, and… and that part's done.

"But now… well, you're going to make the rest of it easier, Jocelyn. Thank you for thinking of this— and for giving me a much better chance of getting to kill the miserable, misassembled microwave that killed my brother!"

"Joyce," I said, giving her a hard, hard smile, and thinking of poor Royal, who had died to save me from the misassembled microwave in question, "it'll be a pleasure!"

We went to work, and it was… I knew, from the first moments, that I liked teaching, liked it a lot. By the time I was done, I was so damned glad that I'd learned everything I had that I could barely contain myself— because now I'd be able to teach it, and not just to Joyce, to all the newbies. I was going to love that, I loved teaching.

It took a long time, subjectively— because I taught Joyce everything I could, not just the combat skills, but the things I knew about the past cases of Team Slayer, the monster-and-demon knowledge I'd picked up, the tactical wisdom that I had finally recovered completely under Buffy's tutelage.

And because we, too, needed to play, I taught her to dance in zero gravity, taught her as well as I could, I mean. I'm not Aunt Elaine, I'll never be that good— but I taught Joyce all that I could— and grinned like a madwoman when she turned out to be a little better than me. Now I understood what Aunt Sh'rin had meant when she said "no teacher can hope for more than to have the student pass them," understood it clear to my bones.

We played, we worked, she learned, I learned— teaching taught me a new perspective on some things— and we danced, and played darts, cards, chess… I managed to recreate some of Buffy's distractions, too, the batting cages, the driving ranges, and two of her more wicked mini-golf courses. Joyce sang, she taught me what she knew about singing— my voice is never going to be as good as hers or Judith's, but I can stay on key, which counts for something— she told me stories about Alex and her parents, and I told her stories about Stephen, Brianne, Danielle, and my folks.

Very early on… I hadn't been going to do it, but I couldn't not tell Joyce about Giles. She had a right to know, a right to grieve— and a right to add his death to the butcher's bill that Warren and Catherine had to pay

And finally, I had nothing left to teach my friend, now my best human friend, after years of subjective time. We hugged long and hard, I warned Joyce about the vibrating-shudder-thing of the body catching up with all the brain had learned, and she nodded. She smiled at me, then, and said, "You know… I've got something else to hit him with, too. Something I thought of a while back.

"Did you know that Warren is…."

She finished her thought, and I stood and stared at her for a long, long moment with my mouth open. I finally managed to say, "That's not true, it can't be—"

Joyce held up a hand, smiled a grim little smile, and told me why she'd said what she'd said— and I found myself gaping at her in amazement.

"Joyce, that… my god, I never thought of it like that, but… you're right!" I stared at her a moment more, then grinned. "And Daddy says I'm the brilliant one? No way, that's you!

"Honey, hit him with that! Hit him with it, and the second you can, tell another Slayer! Tell Willow, and she can— my god, Joyce, if this gets around, we might not have to worry about getting all of him. His _allies_ will do that for us!

"Hey! Chief! His ghost is telepathic with living people, right?" Joyce nodded, and I laughed aloud. "Have him contact anyone, human or pseudo dragon that he can reach, Joyce, and pass that along to them with instructions to pass it along to everyone they can!"

Joyce busted out in a hard, cold smile at that— then that smile faded to a more Joyce-like smile and she said, "Now who's the brilliant one? Great idea, Jocelyn!"

We worked together on phrasing for a while— I'm a better smartass than Joyce, because I'm not as nice a person— and when she had what she was going to say to Warren down pat, we got ready to go back to the real world and finish the jobs ahead of us.

We hugged one more time, then Joyce said, "I'm ready. See you on the other side, okay?"

"Bet on it!" I said, and I closed my eyes— and opened them back in the real world.

Somewhere nearby, I knew that Joyce was about to open a can of destruction on Warren Mears— and I wished to hell I could see it when she did!

_**88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888**_

_In the Trap:_

Joyce Harris suddenly began to shake, shudder, even _vibrate_ in Warren's grasp, and he had to grip more tightly for a few seconds to hold on to her. The image of the Scythe continued to burn in her pupils until the shuddering stopped— and then it vanished, she smiled at Warren, and the smile made him… nervous.

"You're _so_ screwed," Joyce said softly— then she moved.

Joyce swung herself forward sharply and her feet hit Warren's stomach. Immediately, she walked up his torso, moving at full-on combat speed. Her left heel landed on his right shoulder, levered up— and her right heel slammed into Warren's chin with a force that, despite his knowledge of Slayers and his observation of the kid as she moved through his "dungeon," managed to catch him by surprise, coming from such a tiny little thing.

She flipped over backwards as he lost his grip on her, landed in a crouch, then grabbed her dropped sword, rolled backwards and turned that into a back handspring that gave her breathing room, while Warren stood and carefully shifted his neck, making sure that his head was still connected correctly to the rest of him.

Alex's voice came from behind Joyce, saying, "Holy crap, when did you learn to do that?"

"A few seconds ago," Joyce said aloud as she slipped her sword into the sheath on her back, not caring what Warren thought of her apparently talking to herself. "Or a couple years back. Depends on how you look at it, Alex."

"Uh, okay." Alex sounded puzzled. "So… what now?"

"This isn't funny, kid," Warren said, his voice a little higher than normal, a tittering, nervous laugh escaping him, despite his words. "I mean— mental health is not a laughing matter!"

"Show him, Alex," Joyce said softly. "I need him to listen for a minute, and he's wound pretty tight. Show him, so I can tell him how badly he screwed up.

"And Chief? Echo my words to any pseudo dragons, Slayers, Watchers, Guardians or soldiers you can reach, please?"

For a second or so, Warren just stared at Joyce— then he let out a gasp and jumped back as Alex Harris, solid and seemingly very alive, appeared on his sister's left, his pseudo dragon pal Chief perched on his left shoulder.

"What the HELL!?" Warren cried. "You can't be— I KILLED YOU!"

"I got better," Alex said with a smile. "You might've noticed that sort of runs in the family, if you'd had a brain. And once you've heard my sister out? I'm gonna help her stomp your robot ass into the junkyard."

"NO!" Warren screamed, and started forward.

"You know that you're the reason there are over two thousand Slayers now, don't you?" Joyce said— and Warren froze in his tracks.

"What?" he asked, his voice honestly confused.

"Follow my reasoning— if you can," Joyce said, her voice sneering. "On May the seventh of 2002, you came to my mom's house in Sunnydale with a gun. You were going to kill her because she _beat_ you, beat you and took away your stolen power, all while committing the unpardonable sin of being _female_.

"In the process of trying to kill Mom (and failing), you shot my Aunt Willow's girlfriend, Tara, killed _her_— and you drove Aunt Willow over the edge with grief and hurt.

"Aunt Willow went crazy for a while— and Dark. She absorbed so much magic that it made her crazier still, used it so freely that what had been a borderline addiction to magic before became full-on dependency. She killed you, your human body, despite everything my mom and dad and their friend Anya could do, all they tried to do to save your miserable life— and in the end, she nearly destroyed the whole world, before Dad stopped her.

"Aunt Willow, with the help of… of my grandpa, Rupert Giles, she got better. She learned to use the magic without giving in to addiction, she came back to the light— and a little more than year later, on May the twentieth of 2003, Aunt Willow, at Mom's suggestion, managed to use the Scythe, the power in it, and her own power… to activate every. Single. Slayer. On. Earth!

"All because, you? You couldn't handle being beat by a woman— and you couldn't even stand and watch her die after you shot her. You ran in a panic, like the miserable coward that you are— and you kept on shooting, because you're not just a coward, you're a coward who panics in the face of someone else's strength.

"You made it possible for there to be over two thousand Slayers, Warren Mears. And as of now? Every single Slayer, pseudo dragon, Watcher, Guardian and START soldier within telepathic range of a pseudo dragon who's a pretty powerful sender knows that. They're gonna make sure that every single supernatural critter they meet learns it, too, and some of those are bound to get away, to tell other demons about what you did.

"In other words, you miserable excuse for a food processor… you're _screwed!"_

Warren only stared for a moment— then he snarled and screamed, "BITCH!" as he lunged at Joyce.

_**88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888**_

_Cleveland, Ohio:_

For a moment, Starpulse hovered maybe fifty feet in the air above where Scovill Avenue dead-ended at the wall around Woodland Cemetery in Cleveland, Ohio, then went the rest of the way down when Rose Killian gave him a thumbs up. The entrance to the local Hellmouth that was the least likely to garner public notice was a little ways on the other side of the wall, and the group didn't want to draw attention to themselves. Colin set the transport down just inside the wall, as Rose had instructed, and just as he did so, Cyber Knight, silent for the entire ride, said, "Got it!"

"Got what, Knight?" Armsman asked, looking up from his deep conversation with Ballard.

"I hacked the robot-dude's code," Knight said, sounding satisfied, "and then I cracked security on this really big file— it's his original… digital personality, I guess. Like 'right out of his head.' Version one-point-zero.

"What I've _got,_ though, is a way to restore him to that original personality."

"How's that help?" Armsman asked.

"Pretty simple, man— he's edited his personality since, you know?" Knight said, standing and following Armsman out as Starpulse opened the transport. "What he did was take out some of his faults— on purpose. Impatience, contempt for women, those he minimized, for example. But fear… look, no truly sentient being is without fear. However, he reduced his fear _reactions_ sharply, gave himself the kind of control that… well, a veteran soldier who's seen a lot of battle might have. Or, hey, a Slayer, Watcher or a Guardian has.

"Now, though? I can reset him to 'I'm a stupidly impulsive complete coward who hates women and has the self control of a kindergartener in a candy shop.'

"I can't see a way for that to be a bad thing— but I'm not a native. Miz— Rose, sorry— Rose, you're in charge. I can send this out now, I have his working frequencies, but it'll take a while to worm itself into his operating system. What do you think?"

"Do it," Rose replied immediately. "Thanks, Cyber Knight— that ought to be a big help.

"Willow, can you reach Buffy from here, tell her that this is coming?"

"Right away," Willow said, and her eyes went distant. After a moment, she spoke very softly, more to aid in transmitting clearly than anything else. "Buffy? We're back on the ground. Warren has… what's wrong? What are you… Buffy, please, when you try to hide things, it scares me…."

A moment after she let those words trail off into nothing, Willow Rosenberg's face crumpled, and she sobbed and staggered backwards, would have fallen if not for Vincent catching her.

"What?" Rose asked, and Willow, knowing that there was nothing to do but tell her, managed to answer.

"Rose… they… Giles is… is gone."

Rose Killian's face twisted, she sobbed once— then she forced herself to calm down, even as the others in their party— minus Cyber Knight and Armsman, who had never known Buffy's Watcher-turned-father-figure, Rose's adoptive father— reacted, most with tears, all with expressions of pain.

"Dammit!" Rose snarled. "Willow, is— is there anything else we need to know?"

Willow, standing with her forehead resting lightly against the reassuring warmth and firmness of Vincent's chest, took a deep breath and said, "Just a second, I'll see. Buffy was… someone else was trying to contact her while I was, give me a moment."

It took most of a minute, but Willow finally did reach Buffy again, conversed mentally— with her own side of the conversation sub-vocalized to make the sending easier— then said, "All right— we're going in Buffy. I… well, if you guys wrap things up there, call me, Dawn and I'll get the teams back together."

Willow took a long, deep breath, then turned to Rose and said, "I'm going to short form this, okay?" Rose nodded mechanically— the only way or her to control her emotions in the wake of discovering that she'd lost a father for the second time was to _over_ control them— and Willow said, "Jocelyn, Piper, Ian and Joyce got into the underground complex where Catherine's working, then Warren managed to separate Joyce from them. The place is now sealed, sealed on beyond tight, but before the complete lockdown, Buffy got the Scythe to Jocelyn, and…. Well, some of you know this, but Jocelyn has learned everything that every active Slayer knows about fighting— and had Buffy help her turn it into one fighting style.

"Then Jocelyn went and taught all that to Joyce."

"Oh, girl o' mine, you done _good,"_ Chantelle sniffled.

"Also… Alex's and Chief's ghosts are helping Joyce against Warren," Willow said, smiling just a little. "And Chief just sent… well, everyone at the battle site something that… it's knowledge that needs to be spread.

"Joyce, she figured out that Warren? He's the reason there's an army's worth of Slayers, nowadays."

"Holy shit," Elaine said, her face a picture in surprise. "I— Willow, not to take away from anything you've done, but—"

"But she's right," Willow said, nodding firmly. "I know. Just kinda proves that she's Buffy's daughter all the way through, you know?"

"Yes." Rose took a deep breath, then said slowly, "Okay. Any demons that surrender get told that story, all of it, then released if they aren't… if people aren't their main source of protein.

"Now, let's get in there before Warren does something _else_ horrible."

None of the group had ever been to the Cleveland Hellmouth before, but the four most common methods for getting to it were well known to all Slayers, Watchers, Guardians, and START members— Giles had seen to that personally, because Hellmouths tended to be a necessary focus of attention for all those groups. Rose had chosen the method that would be least likely to garner attention; the neighborhood surrounding Woodland Cemetery was very bad, mostly deserted, and even the cops stayed away except when called. So there really wasn't anyone to notice the group of four Slayers, two Watchers, a Guardian, a witch and three superheroes as they entered into a crypt whose doors only appeared to be chained shut.

From there, they went directly into a very old set of storm sewers, and from there into tunnels of… undocumented origin, but that Giles had believed made by demons, in order to get around beneath the city.

It was in the tunnels that things got difficult— and that Rose's team suffered their first casualty.

They entered the first major tunnel nexus, a room forty feet across with five exits beside the one they entered through, and were suddenly set upon by demons from all six directions.

Things got heavy, and it was at a point in the battle where every single member of the team had a fight of their own going on that Chantelle Penobscot killed the Suvolte demon in front of her, looked for her next target— and saw her husband a short distance away, fighting against a pair of vampires, holding his own with a longsword, but only barely. Without thinking, she moved that way, calling, "Whitey! Back and left, sugar!" as she moved.

"Chantelle, WAIT!" Ballard Innes, who was closest to her, and had been the only one to notice what she'd seen, yelled. "That can't be—"

Chantelle heard him, realized the truth of what he was trying to say, that this couldn't be her husband, and started to backpedal— too late.

"Whitey" spun, his sword flashed out— and he opened Chantelle's throat clear to the bone.

"Sorry, sweetheart," he said— in Warren Mears's voice. "But I owed you and your kid for interfering with me killing Buffy and her brat. Her _other_ brat, I mean." The robot let out a tittering little laugh that made Willow Rosenberg simultaneously shiver and see red at its horrifying familiarity, then continued. "This pays you both, I g—"

Suddenly, the Warren-bot wearing Whitey's face stopped in mid word, floated a few centimeters up into the air— and began to crumple like a tinfoil doll, albeit very, very slowly.

"Murderer!" Willow Rosenberg hissed as she held Warren in her telekinetic grip— and ever-so-slowly closed the mental "fist" she pictured holding him in, crushed him slowly— but inexorably. "I've tried to let go of all the things you've done, I've tried to remember the threefold rule, I've tried to remember that hating you, wanting you _dead,_ is what nearly destroyed me.

"But I can't let this go any more. I can't let my need to try and forget what you did to me make me forget what you're doing to the people I love.

"You're going to die, Warren Mears. All of you! You're going to die, to end, to be forgotten— and I swear by the Lady herself that _you're done killing the people I care about!"_

Sh'rin had dodged past Willow and the Warren-bot, gone to Chantelle— and now took off the leather jacket she wore and draped it over Chantelle's upper body, tears pouring steadily from her eyes, shoulders shaking— but not quite sobbing.

"You… can't… kill… all… of… me… you… worthless… bitch!" the Warren-bot managed to grind out, even though his head and jaw were slightly deformed, now.

"You don't think so?" Willow said, tears pouring from her eyes as Sh'rin's actions told her that Chantelle was dead. She had thought so from the gout of blood and Chantelle's instant collapse, but hadn't been able to stop hoping just a little…. "Warren, you're an idiot. A big, stupid, moron. How'd you ever get to be a genius when you're so dumb?

"I managed, with the help of Sh'rin and Dawn, to put up a spell that backtracked any technology its creating intelligence, and if that intelligence was yours… destroyed the tech. _You know we did that_— and you float there telling me that any one of us, now that we know how to do it, couldn't work up a tracking spell for your intelligence itself, to make sure that we got every single copy of it and destroyed them all? Even if you found enough old reel-to-reel tape to make a backup on that, which, wow, that'd take enough tape to fill a small skyscraper, so, probably you didn't.

"You're no genius, Warren, and you never were. You're just an idiot savant with a talent for robotics.

"Oh— and this you? It's dead, now!"

And just that suddenly, Willow crushed the Warren-bot down to a sphere of plastic and metal only a little bit bigger than a basketball.

For a moment, Willow just stared at the remains of the robot. Then she walked over to Chantelle's body, walked around it chanting softly, and laid a protection on the corpse that would destroy any monster who tried to come within three feet of her. Whitey, Gwedolyn, Jocelyn, Stephen, Brianne and Danielle would be able to say their goodbyes properly, this way.

This battle had been won, and when Willow finished her spell, she saw that the entire team had gathered in a circle around Chantelle's body while she worked. "Nothing will disturb her while we finish this," Willow said, her voice breaking. "Nothing will… will touch her."

"Thank you, Willow," Starpulse said. "For Jocelyn's sake."

Willow could only nod.

"All right," Rose Killian said a few seconds later. "Let's go finish this.

"I've got point. Armsman, watch our backs. The rest, standard spread, Sh'rin towards the front, Willow towards the back.

"Let's get it done."

The team moved deeper into the caverns, heading steadily for the Hellmouth, and whatever Warren planned to do there.


	49. Burning

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 49: Burning

_In the Trap:_

Warren-bot abandoned all pretense of trained hand-to-hand combat, just lunged at Joyce Harris with his arms outstretched to grab and trap her, his intent being to crush her like a bug in his arms.

Joyce laughed aloud, bounced lightly into the ginga of Capoeira, and cartwheeled sideways out of the way. Warren, his balance shot, staggered forward— then fell on his face as Alex Harris, as real and solid as he'd ever been, stuck out a foot and tripped the robotic villain.

"You little shit!" Warren howled as he pushed himself to his feet. "I'm gonna enjoy killing you again, you stupid little—"

Joyce's foot slammed across Warren-bot's head, sent him staggering sideways into the wall next to the door that Joyce had entered the room from. He pushed off of the wall— and something red and leathery wrapped around his head, blinding him.

As Chief blinded the robot with his now-solid wings, Alex moved to the desk that sat against the wall and started looking through it, trusting his best friend and his twin sister to keep Warren busy for a moment— and trusting Warren to have a backup weapon available.

Chief saw Joyce coming in again, moving in the bouncing, side-to-side basic motion of Capoeira, and he flapped up and away from Warren as Joyce threw herself into a cartwheel and kicked the robot with first one foot, then the other. Warren staggered sideways with an inarticulate sound of fury, slammed into the wall the door opened against, and bounced off. Deliberately, he pushed off of the wall, looking for some room to maneuver.

It said a lot about his lack of fighting skills that it didn't bother him at all that Joyce Harris let him do so completely unopposed.

Warren-bot started for Joyce again— and staggered backwards as something made a loud BANG— and something else hit him in the face, hard, put out his right visual receptor.

He looked around wildly to find Alex Harris standing next to his desk and holding— correctly, in the Weaver stance— the 9mm pistol that had been in the top right hand drawer.

"SURPRISE!" Alex shouted— and fired a second shot that narrowly missed the Warren-bot's left eye, hit just above it, splitting the eyebrow and ricocheting away, though it did knock Warren's head back. "Joyce, tell Graham thanks for the shooting lessons when you see him again, would you?"

"Will do, Alex," Joyce said. "Hold your fire a second, please."

The Warren-bot looked back and forth between Buffy's daughter and the… revenant of her son, and tried to back away, realizing at last that they had him badly outclassed.

He didn't get far at all, in part because he'd forgotten the other "solid ghost" in the room.

Chief again flew close, gripped the Warren-bot's head with his front claws and wrapped his wings completely around his murderer's head, blinding him very effectively.

"You shouldn't have killed my brother you overdone food processor," Joyce said softly. "In fact… you really should've stopped before you _ever_ started messing with my mom!"

Joyce bounced through two Ginga-steps, went into a cartwheel with only one hand supporting her— but at the top of her cartwheel, she relaxed her shoulder, and her legs came slicing down in an attack that looked a good bit like a pommel horse move called a "Thomas Flair." Her legs hit Warren-bot's, left first, then right, and the sheer momentum imparted by gravity gave her the power to knock the robot completely off of its feet and flip it to land on its side even as Chief launched himself back towards Alex.

Joyce spun to her feet, leapt high into the air, and drew her sword as she went up. Warren sat up, moving at speeds that only a Slayer could match— and Alex shot him twice in the chest as Joyce went up and started back down. The two bullets were enough to knock the robot back down—

—and Joyce's light longsword skewered the robot just below the navel, where the thing's master power source would be, if it were built along the lines of all the others.

With a little shriek of fury, Joyce pulled her blade free— and stabbed again, lower, then started dragging her sword back and forth, up and down, through the machine's torso. She remembered the Warren-bot who'd killed Royal, nearly killed Jocelyn, and she wasn't about to take any chances that this one would come back to life.

Alex came over and stomp-kicked the nearly-inert machine repeatedly, alternating between kicking its groin and head, and making little noises of satisfaction mixed with sadness as he did so.

"Stupid goddamned machine!" Alex said as Joyce, panting with a mixture of effort and emotional release, finally stopped ripping her blade through the thing's body. He bent and shouted right in the Warren-bot's face, "YOU DO NOT MESS WITH TEAM SLAYER WITHOUT GETTING YOUR ASS KICKED FOR IT, YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

After that, Alex stood up straight, panted heavily for a minute, then looked over at his twin sister and said, "Wow, that felt really, _really,_ _REALLY_ good. Thanks, sis."

"Felt good over here, too," Joyce assured him. She took a deep breath and said, "So… time for that hug?"

"Well… you could tell me how the heck you turned into a Mom-level fighter, first…."

"Jocelyn." Joyce grinned hugely. "I just spent… I don't know, it felt like _years_ inside the Scythe with her— after she'd spent years inside it with Chantelle, Aunt Rose, Aunt Elaine, Faith and Mom, learning everything they could teach her about… everything."

Alex let loose a low whistle, and said in a respectful voice, "Okay, that's… kind of awesome."

"Really awesome on my end," Joyce said, and smiled some. "Pretty sure that would've been a bad, ugly fight, even with your help, if not for the lessons."

"Probably," Alex agreed. Then he grinned his best cheesy grinned and said, "As it is, I hope his drives or memory or whatever survived long enough to let the others know that he didn't just get beat by a girl again, he got_ curb-stomped_ by a thirteen year-old girl who _might_ weigh ninety-five pounds with all that armor on!"

Joyce laughed, then let out a little sound halfway between laugh and sigh. "Alex… thank you. For coming back to help, for being my brother, for keeping me alive… for making me Complete.

"I love you, Alex."

Alex Harris stepped across the robotic body of Warren Mears that he'd aided his sister in destroying and hugged her hard, harder than he had in a very long time. They held on for a long moment, both crying silently, with Chief's wings wrapped around their heads.

"Love you, too," Alex said against his sister's ear. "Tell Mom and Dad I love them, and that… hey, I'm _okay_. I got to help you out, and the place me and Chief are hanging out? It's absolutely branding awesome.

"Now, sis, before I let go, let me ask… you want to go help Mom out, or Jocelyn?"

"Jocelyn," Joyce said with only a little hesitation. "It's what Mom would do, and I know I _can_ help, now."

"Damned straight," Alex said. Without letting go of Joyce, he looked up and said, "You heard the lady. Pop the doors between here and Jocelyn's big brawl.

"My sister's a _Slayer,_ and she's got work to do."

Joyce heard doors opening, a lot of them, and she felt her brother squeeze her tightly one last time—

—then felt something like a warm breeze pass through her entire being as Alex and Chief vanished, went back to whatever place they lived in now that they'd passed beyond the mortal world.

Joyce Harris drew herself up, swiped tears off of her face, and started trotting out through Warren's little dungeon the way she'd come in, following the trail of dead monsters that she'd left on the way in back to her best friend— and the battle of a lifetime.

_**88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888**_

_Eastland Mall, Aboveground:_

Buffy Harris staked the vampire that had been coming for her, looked for the next target— and found nothing but friendlies surrounding her.

"Intermission, I guess," Xander said from behind her. He sheathed his longsword as he spoke. "Buff— you said Jocelyn's name and went… kind of blank for a second there right before things got crazy again. What was that?"

"That," Buffy said, smiling, "was Jocelyn vindicating every good thing I ever said about that girl."

She told Xander about training Jocelyn, and about Jocelyn's intent to pass all that training on to Joyce before starting her run at the gauntlet that Catherine Madison had tossed down before her.

"Hot damn," Xander said, a look of relief crossing his face. "So Joyce—"

"By now, she's got as much actual skill as I do, maybe more— and I've got more skill than I did before, too," Buffy said. "Joyce doesn't have a lot of experience— but tons and tons of skill. She'll make _pudding_ out of the Warren she's dealing with."

"What I wouldn't give to see that," Xander said, his voice slightly edgy. He shook himself and said, "I'm gonna do a check on the troops, lady. Want to come with me?"

"I wouldn't miss—" Buffy started.

_*Urgent relay!*_ came a familiar dragonish voice in Buffy's head— one she'd thought she'd never hear again. Apparently, Xander heard it, too, because he said, in synch with her and in a wondering voice, "Chief?"

Then they heard Joyce's voice, relayed from their dead son's dead best friend, and both slowly began to smile.

_*You know that you're the reason there are over two thousand Slayers now, don't you?*_ Joyce's voice said in their heads.

_*What?*_ came the voice of Warren Mears, who sounded confused and worried.

_*Follow my reasoning— if you can.* _ Chief, like most pseudo dragons, had developed a great ability to imitate the nuances of human speech through his telepathy over the years, and everyone listening heard the scorn and contempt in Joyce Harris's voice as she continued. _*On May the seventh of 2002, you came to my mom's house in Sunnydale with a gun. You were going to kill her because she _beat_ you, beat you and took away your stolen power, all while committing the unpardonable sin of being_ female….*

No one spoke while Chief relayed Joyce's humiliating speech to Warren, they just listened and sometimes nodded or chuckled.

"That's my girl," Xander said proudly when the information relay stopped. He looked skywards and said, very quietly, "If Chief's with Joyce… so is Alex.

"Thank you, all of you, for that."

For a couple of minutes, Xander and Buffy just stood, hand in hand, wishing their daughter well— but not really worrying about her more than a little, after the things she'd learned, and the dressing-down that she'd just given Warren Mears's robotic self.

"Xander!" Dawn yelled from back down the hall a little way. "Fresh incursion! They're popping up down by Kohl's— getting down there to shut it down will be almost impossible!"

"Understood," Xander said. He looked around, sighed, and said, "Form up, folks— it's back to battle we go!"

Just before the first wave arrived, Xander and Buffy, standing shoulder to shoulder in front of a trio of START soldiers and an Amberite prince named Bleys, felt a sudden warm breeze. It wafted around them both, ruffled their hair and warmed exposed skin, and each felt their son's regard for a moment, _felt_ him say, more than heard the words, _*Love you, Dad, love you, Mom._

_*Kick some butt for me….*_

"You bet, son," Xander said, his voice surprisingly steady.

"Yes, Alex," Buffy said.

The first demons came around the corner— and Buffy, wielding (one-handed) a two-handed sword she'd taken from a fallen demon in the last wave, laid into them with a will.

_**88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888**_

_Jocelyn:_

I opened my eyes to see that Piper hadn't quite finished that group of gorilla-crickets she'd been attacking when I closed my eyes, and Ian and Harry were still pointing and laughing at the vampires below as they tried to work out a way around Harry's wall of lava, which just kept jetting into the air, going from a wall of orange molten rock about eight feet high to almost double that as the lava Harry had woken up kept right on waxing and waning.

I'd barely had time to start a _seriously_ needed stretch when I heard Chief's voice in my head, telling people to listen for an urgent information relay. I looked at Ian, saw his face lose some tension and fear (which had been there even under his open amusement at the stupidity of some monsters) when Chief relayed Joyce's voice as she metaphorically ripped Warren Mears a new asshole.

"Boo-ya!" Harry said when the relay faded. "Kiddo, your mom would be proud!"

"Her boyfriend damn sure is," Ian said, a grin on his face.

"She'll be fine, Ian," I said as I continued my stretch, priming my muscles as best I could for what I was about to attempt. "She knows everything I do, and I know everything that the other active Slayers could teach me."

"It worked!" Ian said, grinning. "And you taught— Jocelyn, thank you!"

"I love her, too, you know," I said, smiling.

"Good point."

"Hey, Harry," I called as I walked that way. "How much longer is that lava wall likely to last?"

"A good five minutes more," the wizard replied easily. "Maybe a bit more, I did put some Soulfire into the mix— that will extend the magic, and Earth magic has… _inertia_ anyway. It keeps on going for a while, once it's started, or at least this kind of thing does."

"Don't know if there's a lot of time left," I said. "Can you damp it if I need you to?"

"Sure," Harry replied, nodding. "You say when, I'll cool things down."

"Lets give it a couple," I said, nodding. "Piper, honey? You about done teasing the insectoid gorillas?"

"About," she called. I heard the whickering noise of an axe being swung with Slayer strength, the thump of blade on flesh, and the falling coconut sound of a head hitting the ground. "Done now, what's up?"

"I'm going to start my run, here in a minute," I told her as she leapt over to my side in one astonishing bound. "Think you could get me up high enough to see over Harry's lava wall for a couple?"

"Your wish is my command," Piper replied. "One sec."

Piper turned and ran up the wall, out across the ceiling and stopped above me. "Okay, Jocelyn— alley oop!"

I leapt up, my hands reaching for Piper's. She caught my wrists, tugged once— and I went up further. She caught me with both hands on my waist, and held me easily, my head just a couple of inches from the ceiling, and said, after a moment, "Hey, Jocelyn, did anyone ever tell you that you have really pretty ankles?"

"No, but thanks," I said absently. I looked out over the field, knowing that Piper had both the strength and endurance to hold me up here without serious effort for a good long time, and started working on a route in my head. Then I stopped and called, "Hey, Harry? That globular laceration thing you did while I was getting all blaze-y, what was that? Piper said it might help me make my run for Catherine when you did it?"

"Force ball about the size of a big marble," Harry called, a slight laugh in his voice, presumably from the picture that Piper and I presented, her holding me upside down to her by my waist. "I fire it into a crowd— then expand to around twenty feet through the middle pretty much instantaneously. Bowls over monsters like… uh, like the Scythe goes through pencil-necked vampires."

"I like!" I said. "Can you do that when I'm ready to make my run?"

"Betcha," Harry said. "In fact, there's a precedent."

I laughed and said, "I'll bet.

"Piper, when I'm ready to start, how many of the nearby nasties can you web down enough that I'll be able to bypass them without more than some fancy dodging?"

"Well, let's see… I'm thinking that I can get the twenty on the left side, there, just on the other side of the lava wall— maybe even two dozen. You start over there, hug the wall— only half as many monsters to fight."

"You have been paying attention in class," I said, smiling. "Left side's better, yeah— mostly vamps for the first twenty-five, thirty yards that I'll actually have to fight through, with you and Harry clearing me a path. The right… I don't know what some of those things are, but I don't think I want to, either. Whose idea was it to cross a spider and an elephant, anyway?"

"Actually, I can maybe answer that," Harry volunteered.

"Please, don't," I said, and Harry snorted laughter.

"Okay— Ian, how's your Hope-juice?"

"I'm not up to a pulse like I did before we came down here," Ian said evenly, "but I'm not low, either. I can to the touch-monster-burn-monster-two-step for an hour or more, at least."

"Okay, then you're ground-space guardian," I said. "Piper, I want you to pace me on the ceiling to the halfway point, web anything that looks like it might be getting too close to me, then turn back here— odds are the fighting's going to be thick back here, and I don't want any of you hurt. Don't argue, just pace me to the halfway point, then get back here."

"Yes, Jocelyn," Piper said. "But you're insane, for the record."

"At the halfway point, I'll have momentum," I said. "Not to mention everything I've learned in the last lifetime or so, and the reaction of everything that thought I'd never make it that far.

"Harry, I want you to snipe anything you can that's in my way and looks too nasty. Don't bother with vampires, they're… between what I've just learned, the time I spent teaching it, and the Scythe? Not stressing vampires. But from here, I can see some sort of… ugh. It looks like somebody crossed a rhino and a sea anemone, and I really don't want to know what the heck all those tentacles are for, you know? And there are other very large things out there, feel free to zap all of them that you want."

"No argument," Harry said. "I'll play Bob Lee Swagger for you, no problem."

"Shooter was an _excellent_ movie," I said, laughing. "Ian, you're Harry's bodyguard, with Piper's help once she gets back here."

"Where do you want me?" called a voice, and Piper spun around while still holding me up.

"Joyce!" I said, and found myself grinning hugely. "You got out of there, excellent!"

Piper dropped me partway, caught my hands, then dropped me the rest of the way and flipped to the floor herself as I waited my turn to hug Joyce— Ian was kissing her, of course.

I got to hug Joyce, who squeezed me long and hard and said, "Thanks, Jocelyn. For teaching me, I mean. With all of that and Alex and Chief… blender-boy was pretty much a pushover. Without what you taught me… ugh. Pretty sure it would have been a lot nastier for me."

"Never a problem," I said. I looked over at Harry, who was looking at Joyce with a mixture of fascination and something that might have been relief. (I figured the relief to mean that she didn't look too much like _his_ Joyce.) "Joyce, meet our otherwordly ally, Harry Dresden. Harry, Xander and Buffy's daughter, Joyce."

"Harry Dresden!?" Joyce exclaimed, her face lighting up. "Ohmigod, Dad will be so jealous that I met you! We've both read all the books about you, he got me started on them, and they're finally doing a movie, they got a real director, and they got Zachary L—"

"Joyce," I said, trying not to laugh at Harry's slightly stunned expression. "We need to get moving, okay?"

"Oh." She took a deep breath, looked up at Harry, and said, "Sorry, gushing. But seriously— this is kind of extra-amazing."

"Trust me," Harry said, quirking a smile at her, "that works both ways. But the lady's right— it's showtime."

"Right." Joyce shook her head once and said, "Jocelyn? Am I with you, or here?"

"Here," I said immediately. "You've got the training I have, Joyce—"

"But not the experience," she finished for me. "I guess this isn't exactly the time to go looking to level up, huh?"

Harry barked a laugh, and I smiled a little as I nodded. "No, Joyce, it's not. You stay here and help Ian. Harry's the only one here who can shoot from range, I'm going to need you to keep his back clear—"

"So he can keep yours clear," Joyce said, nodding. "Okay. Kiss Piper and let's do this, Jocelyn."

I took her at her word— after hugging her again, hugging Ian, then, to his seeming surprise, hugging Harry Dresden. Surprised or not, he hugged back hard, held on 'til I let go, and grinned when I stepped back. I then turned to Piper and kissed the heck out of her.

"Listen…" Harry said when Piper and I broke. He smiled as he continued. "Jocelyn knows this, but I want you guys to know, because… because you need to know that I know what the hell I'm talking about.

"I know Buffy, _a_ Buffy— she, Xander and Dawn got pulled out of their version of reality and into mine via the Nevernever. Their world went differently after the end of Sunnydale than yours did, and… they're my family, all of them.

"I accidentally managed to jump-start the Scythe when things got bad and Buffy needed her power back, and… well, I work with Buffy really often, other Slayers quite a bit, so I know what I'm talking about when I tell you that _you're doing it right_. You'd better believe that I'm going to tell my Buffy that things here? They're in the best of hands.

"So… Jocelyn, good luck. If I fade out before you get back… it's been a blast, lady."

"Thanks, Harry," I said, and I took a deep breath. "Okay. Piper, get up to where you can pin down… can you get four deep along the left wall immobilized, out as far as you can?"

"I can." She squeezed my hand once, then leapt up to the ceiling, looked down at us and said, "Good luck, everybody," before she ran off to the left a ways and waited for me.

"Harry, on my signal, you shut down the lava wall, then once Piper's webbed down however many she can, clear me a space past that as big as you can— I want momentum on my side. Then… don't kill anything until I get pretty close— in this mess, you shoot too far ahead of me and other things will have time to replace whatever you get rid of."

"Got it," he said, and grinned at me. "Just so you know… you even sound like Buffy."

"There is no higher praise," I said, smiling my thanks at him. "Joyce, Ian, kill what comes close enough. Stick together, stay alert.

"Okay… I'm as ready as I'm going to get.

"This one's for the money."

I moved to the left edge of the vault door, peered in and up, saw Piper crouching on the ceiling, ready to go, and said, "Three, two, one, GO!"

Harry Dresden thumped his wizard's staff on the ground and bellowed "TERRA TRANQUILLUS!," then leveled his staff at the orange-red glow of the lava lying quietly in the three-to-four-foot wide crack in the floor and said, still loudly, but not actually shouting, _"Frigidum firmus!"_

Suddenly, the lava cooled to ordinary (if rather uneven) concrete for about twenty feet out from the left wall— and Piper fired webbing from all ten digits on her hands, coating more than thirty monsters over near the left side of the big pit that I'd be making me way through. Even as I ran along the top of the ramp to the left wall, she fired more webbing out past that bunch, got a big group of demons some thirty feet past the first group and further to the right held down, and it wasn't until I heard Harry Dresden roar "GLOBUS LACERTORUM!" that I understood why she'd done that.

I never saw the marble-sized globe of energy that Harry shot down past the bunch that Piper had webbed in place, but I did see it when it expanded in a split second to a globe a bit more than twenty feet in diameter, a faint, shimmering, pale, silver-blue. It knocked down a ridiculous number of demons, what with the ones it hit directly slamming into others, then those slamming into still more, etcetera. In a split second, I had a big clear spot about thirty-five or forty feet across starting just past the bunch that Piper had webbed.

I was already at the edge of that group, and only one of them had actually touched me, managed to get a hand out and barely brush it against my upper arm. No effect at all. I ran faster, charged across the open space and moved into the Ginga for the last few paces before reaching the pair of decently-built vampires that were my nearest targets. I leapt into the air, spinning, my trailing leg out to kick, then tucked my leg back under me at the last second and swung the blade of the Scythe through both of their necks. I held my breath as I passed through the resulting cloud of vampire-dust, hit the ground running, body-checked a Kreplin demon before it could sink its Freddy-Krueger-like claws into me, then did what had, back in the days before the Battle of Bloomington, been named a "Lamont Smash" for Sara Lamont, head of the Aussie branch of Team Slayer.

Back then, Sara had been all of four-eleven and _maybe_ ninety-five pounds— and had made a habit, almost, out of leaping into the air and bringing down her weapon on the head of whatever monster she was facing. Given that the demon that I had to face next stood about eight feet tall on four long, thin, insect-like legs, but had a torso and head more like a puke-yellow polar bear? A "Lamont Smash" seemed called for.

I split the thing's melon, kicked off of one of its legs to get close to the wall again— and heard Harry Dresden bellow "PYROFUEGO!" at the top of his pretty-impressive lungs.

A line a fire no thicker than a knitting needle, burning blue-white, passed over my head, hit that rhino-anemone thing I'd been worried about— it was only about twenty feet away, now, and all that stood between it and me were a half a dozen vamps— and punched right through the thing's heavily armored forehead, burned through in less than a second, and punched out its back leg and into the stomach of a Fyarl demon that died, too.

"Wow," I muttered as I cartwheeled in amongst the vampires, kicked two as I finished the maneuver, and waded into the group with the Scythe. "Willow would probably approve of this guy, and that's saying something!"

I killed the last of that group, realized that I'd slowed down— and that the monsters had started to close in on me. Which is when Piper, following me on the ceiling, fired a bunch of webbing to hold the group behind me in place, then dropped to the floor beside me, said, "I'm cutting in, boys, sorry," and fired a heavy strand of web from the fingers of her left hand at the body of the Fyarl demon, said to me, "Duck, Jocelyn!"— and jerked the body of the three hundred pound demon off of the ground and swung him around herself like a freaking ball and chain!

"That's just awesome!" I laughed as Piper slammed everything close off of its feet. I stayed crouched and added, "Okay, from here, I go it alone, Piper— get back with the others."

"Understood, dammit," she groused. "Once I've smacked everything stupid enough to, you know, actually _charge me_ while I'm swinging a dead demon around like Tom Sawyer with his dead rat on a string, anyway!"

I laughed aloud— c'mon, a classical reference in the middle of a battle like this, that's too amazing for words!— and watched as Piper cleared a great circle around us with her homemade Fyarl-mace, then threw the thing at a gargoyle-looking demon that had launched itself into the air and started our way. She hit it, knocked it out of the air, and I straightened up.

I barely reached standing when there came a HUGE flash of the dark blue light that seemed to be Catherine Madison's magical signature—

—and suddenly, Piper and I stood in the middle of a fully refreshed crowd of demons, the closest a mere six feet away, and the numbers so awful that I knew we'd not be able to fight clear in time.

"Well, crap," Piper said softly.

"Doubled!" I said, and swung the scythe at what seemed, for all the world, to be a _literal_ animated set of monkey bars that had clanked right up and begun trying to hit me with some unfastened bars on the side facing me.

Piper got her back against mine, and we started trying to stay alive.

From somewhere behind us I heard a roar of "FULMINOS DIRUPTUM!" A second later, a crackling blue-white ball of energy soared over our heads and dropped into the middle of the densely packed demons there, exploded through them, and put most of them on the ground.

A second later, Harry Dresden's voice again, shouting words that I understood— but that made no sense to me.

"PIPER!" Harry yelled. "COLOSSUS AND WOLVERINE!"

Apparently, Piper did understand, as she immediately said, "Jocelyn, get ready to be thrown!"

"What?" I said, not having a clue as to what she was talking about.

"I'm going to throw you at the door, then get clear myself!" Piper said. "Only chance we've got!"

No time to think, so I trusted my instincts, which were telling me to trust her and Harry. "Do it!"

Piper webbed a lot of monsters on her side, then turned to me grabbed the belt of my armor— and suddenly, I found myself flying through the air towards the big door at the other end of the monster pit, even as the guard there, whatever it was, started moving towards where I'd probably land.

Problem was, nothing to keep the monsters behind me from coming up and joining the fight.

Piper is stronger than a Slayer, and I actually flew the fifty yards or so she'd thrown me with no significant change in arc, and I had to rotate to hit the big wooden door that presumably had Catherine Madison on the other side about nine feet up its fifteen foot height feet-first. (Seriously— BIG DOOR! Fifteen feet high, maybe eight feet wide.)

I rolled up the door, took the impact on knees and forearms, and before I could so much as drop to the ground, Harry Dresden solved my big worry about being attacked from behind for me.

"FLAM-MAMURUS!" he shouted, and I swear, I actually felt the impact as his staff hit the ground _at the other end of the room,_ even though I wasn't touching the ground myself.

Again, the ground tore open and lava sprung up, this time at the base of the ramp behind me, and I dropped to the ground and sighed my relief— only the one monster to deal with, then, or probably only the one, as most nasty things from the supernatural side are way, _way_ not fond of fire.

"Holy crap, I have a chance!" I said.

"No," growled something to my left. "You don't!"

I felt the blow coming, but I couldn't block it— I wasn't fast enough, not when caught by surprise like that, at least. I moved with it as best I could, dove away from the impact as much as possible, and none of my ribs actually broke— though at least a couple cracked.

I managed to tumble and bleed off much of the speed imparted to me by the blow before I slammed into the far wall with my right shoulder and arm. Nothing broke there, either, though I felt fairly sure that I'd be bruised black for a while.

I got my feet under me and took a couple of steps from the wall, then shook my head and took a good look at my opponent.

Seven feet tall, maybe a couple inches over that, and built like a gymnast; maximum muscle bulk possible without loss of dexterity or agility. Skin the color of slate, dark gray, like a new chalkboard. Black hair, long and worn in a ponytail. Slightly shiny metallic armor, field plate mail (plates over most vital areas, the rest chain mail for greater ease of movement) that looked like finished steel. No gauntlets, though, and the stuff didn't look like it would slow him down much, if at all.

His face looked human enough if you discounted the gray skin— and the bumpy-forehead-brow-ridges-and fangs of a vampire. Except for size and skin color, he might have been an ordinary vampire. Well, those and his absolutely _scary_ strength.

"I know that weapon, girl," he said, simply standing in front of the door. "I know its history; how it was used to kill the last pure demon on Earth, then hidden away against the coming of the one who would need it most.

"I don't fear the weapon… because I do not fear the wielder.

"Do you know who I am, girl?"

"No clue," I said with a shrug. I didn't have a lot of time, maybe, but a couple of minutes to get my breath back and bury the pain of that hit he'd laid on me seemed like a good idea. "Should I care?"

"You should." He smiled, and it was… kind of shiver-making. "You know the origin of vampires. How, before the Guardians killed it, the last pure demon fed on a human and mixed their blood, creating the first vampire."

"Sure," I said after a moment, when he didn't continue. "So what?"

"I… am that vampire," he said— and he actually sketched a little bow to me.

"Oh." I licked my lips and thought about that, about how the older a vampire gets, the stronger they get. About how the vampire Kakistos, who'd probably only been a couple of thousand years old, had nearly killed Faith and Buffy, back when they first met.

After a couple of seconds of thinking about those things, I added, "Shit."


	50. Blaze

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 50: Blaze

_Jocelyn:_

What is it about Slayers, big battles, and the first of something? The First Evil at the Battle of Sunnydale, Amy's attempt to summon the First Evil and create a Hellmouth at the Battle of Bloomington, her mom's attempt at doing that here— and the damned First Vampire guarding the only way to get to Catherine Madison?

He made no move to attack me, just stood there calmly, waiting for me to move toward him, and I sighed. "I don't suppose you'd let me by without a fight?"

"No." He smiled, and I shivered. "I have killed Slayers in the past, and it is… satisfying. Now? I would test myself against one who was born to the Slayer power, and see if that is all that I hope it will be."

"Okay," I said. "Let's find out!"

I pulled a crazy disc and flung it away from us, aiming out towards Harry Dresden's wall of lava, and I charged the monster. He'd have to deal with me and the disc would hit him, or deal with the disc and I'd hit him.

Wow, did I have _that_ wrong. Neither of my intended options actually happened.

Instead, he charged me, moving so fast that I barely had time to register the motion and start to block with the Scythe before he hit me, a sharp, hard right-hand punch that hit the flat of the Scythe's blade— and drove it into the left side of my face.

Believe or not, that actually did help; it spread the impact out over a greater area, and it only hurt like hell, as opposed to breaking my jaw.

I needed room, so I bounced into the ginga and danced my way around the demon, going to the edge of the ten-yard-wide flat area at the top of the ramp. I successfully avoided him, saw my crazy disc thunk into that massive wooden door, noted that— it might be handy later.

I finished my dance step, sprinted towards the far wall to get room for a tumbling run, turned around—

—and took a punch to the gut that slammed me the five feet or so that remained between me and the wall.

I felt fairly certain that I didn't have any internal injuries— but again, I knew that I'd bruise black around the spot where he'd hit me, and never mind the strike plates in my armor.

No, wait— thank the Powers for those strike plates! If not for them, I'd probably be on the ground, unable to stand.

"You're fast," the First Vamp said. He'd stepped back from me, and he stood casually, arms hanging easily at his sides, as he regarded me. "You're skilled… but you can't be prepared to fight me, girl. Turok-han fear me, demons of all stripe flee when they hear my name, and I have killed more Slayers down the millennia than you have had birthdays. Perhaps more than the number of _seasons_ that you've seen, child. Do you have any idea of—"

"Hang on," I said, holding up a hand. "Look, I can't just keep thinking of you as 'the First Vamp,' it's too clunky. What's this name that demons flee from, anyway?"

"I am Krakarn," the vampire said, standing up straight and actually bowing a little. "And you?"

"I'm Jocelyn," I said, returning the bow. "I am the one that the women who made this weapon—" I hefted the Scythe. "—call 'the Blaze.' They have faith in me, Krakarn— so you'll forgive me if I fight you, and never mind your boasts, right?"

"I would not have it otherwise," Krakarn said, and again he smiled that creepy, chilly smile of his.

Then he hit me again, and I couldn't stop it. His left fist seemed to _drill_ into the meat of my right shoulder, just below and inside the joint, and I damn near dropped the Scythe from the pain. I kicked him, drove my body off of the wall with my arms and shoulders and threw a kick into his gut that sent him backwards a good twenty feet. I moved after him in the ginga, my intent being to feint a giant double kick, then bring the Scythe down at an angle, try to get inside the raised collar-thing of his armor and behead him.

He recovered his balance completely while I was still in mid-walkover, took two blindingly fast steps forward, reached up, caught my left ankle, and threw me at the opposite wall, _hard_.

I had time to tuck and roll, to get my feet pointed at the wall, and I absorbed a lot of the force like taking a fall, rolled up the wall like rolling back on my shoulders for a ground fall— but it _hurt_. Both ankles and knees protested, and my left hip as well, and, while I wasn't going to bruise black or anything, I knew that I'd be bruised from butt to shoulders when this was over. If not for my hair being in a ponytail, so pretty thick at the back of my head, I'd probably have been knocked out. (I _knew_ there was a good reason to wear it long.)

Krakarn was coming at me again, walking casually, as though killing me was nothing more than an amusement.

"Crap," I said softly. "I don't have time for this, Catherine's going to—"

I didn't even get to finish my thought before I heard Harry Dresden shout something that I didn't quite catch— and the game changed.

_**88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888**_

_Joyce, Piper, etc:_

"Jocelyn's in trouble," Piper said, her voice thick with worry. She stood on the ceiling, looking towards the other end of the demon-filled hall. She webbed a group of incoming vampires to the floor, stopped them and the demons behind them for at least a moment, and added, "I don't know what that thing is, but it's too damned fast. And strong. It's playing with her like a cat with a beetle.

"I'm going to—"

"Wait!" Joyce said, her voice excited. "Wait, hang on, I have— Harry!"

"Fuego!" Harry Dresden snapped, aiming his two-foot long blasting rod— made specifically as a focus for fire magics, so he could use less power for more effect than he could with his staff. He swung the rod from left to right as a beam of white-hot fire the thickness of his pinky sprang from it, incinerated a dozen vampires and injured another dozen demons past that. He lowered the wooden rod and said, "What do you need, Joyce?"

"That thing you did at Chichen Itza, early on, the 'other Earth magic' you do well… can you do something similar now?"

"Similar?" Harry frowned, aimed his blasting rod again, muttered, "Fuego," and killed a Chiswinth demon that had been galloping towards the group.

"Jocelyn can do one thing that I know that whatever-it-is _can't,"_ Joyce said, her voice coming quickly, but without panic. "Harry, Jocelyn has been to Asimov Station— she's spent time in _space!"_

Harry Dresden grinned suddenly, snapped "Fuego" and burned down a P'korkin demon as it skittered towards him, clicking its mandibles hungrily.

"I can, yes," Harry said. "Give me… fifteen seconds!"

"Done!" Joyce said. "Get behind Ian and I!"

The otherworldly wizard tucked his blasting rod back in the pocket sewn into his duster's lining as he moved over behind Ian and Joyce as they stepped forward and Piper moved to stand on the ceiling directly over them. He'd never done this before, not like this— but the he knew the principle behind it, and this place… something about this place felt very different from his own Earth, but in a _good_ way. He'd used more magic since arriving here than he'd ever used in a single day at home, but he was only starting to feel the mental fatigue he associated with "running dry," being unable to gather in more magic. So he could help— and he would.

This was important, he knew that— Buffy had given the Scythe to Jocelyn to use, and he couldn't imagine this world's Buffy doing that any more readily than his wife would, so it had to be damned important.

"Okay," he muttered as he gathered magic, worked the formula in his head, and set up the spell. He decided that this was urgent enough to warrant the use of Soulfire, energy that came directly from his own soul and could make any magic that _created something_ better, stronger, and make virtually any effect last longer. He wrapped a piece of his soul around his spell, knowing that his simple delight at traveling to this other Earth would probably replenish that piece of him almost instantly, and said, "Let's give the kid an edge."

The circle he visualized in his head lit up with power, and Harry Dresden lifted his staff over his head with both hands as he shouted, "NULLUM GRAVITAS!" and sent the energy he'd gathered streaking towards the other end of the room.

_**88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888**_

_Jocelyn:_

Krakarn had been strolling towards me casually as I crouched on the ground near the wall, feeling my many and varied (and abused) muscles and bones protesting the very _idea_ of moving again.

Suddenly I felt a moment of disorientation and queasiness— and Krakarn's next casual step sent him careening towards the ceiling as gravity _took a vacation_.

"Time's up," I said, a huge, delighted grin spreading across my face as I gathered myself, put one heel back against the wall. "Rules change!"

I kicked with both feet, glad that I'd learned more about zero gravity movement than I already knew while inside the Scythe, more glad that I had taught it to Joyce and burned it into my muscle-memory by doing so.

I went at Krakarn like an arrow shot from Mom's Slayer-strength-required bow, flipped in mid-flight, slammed into the back of his head feet-first as he bounced off of the ceiling. He hit the ceiling again, face-first this time, and I heard the welcome sounds of breaking bones as I bounced back towards the floor. I collapsed against the floor, let my muscles resist just enough to eat up my inertia, and as Krakarn tumbled, I held position for a beat— then kicked back up, timed my swing carefully, and slashed across his eyes with the Scythe.

The motion and impact imparted both spin and recoil to us both. I knew how to handle that— the First Vampire hadn't a freaking clue. He hit the ceiling again, tumbling, feet first, then his back and shoulders as he continued the tumble. Unfortunately for him, he tried to catch himself with his elbows— and bounced off the ceiling pretty hard even as I kicked the ground with one heel just hard enough to push me away from the floor a little and transfer the rest of my motion into going back towards the wall at a good clip.

Krakarn hit the ground feet first, and tried to push off towards me, but he didn't understand the physics of zero-gee movement, and all he accomplished was a slow movement in my direction and a slightly faster one towards the ceiling.

"SLAYER BITCH!" Krakarn said, shaking his head and trying to get his one working eye on me again. "I WILL KILL YOU FOR THIS INDIGNITY!"

"You think this is an indignity?" I called as I 'collapsed' against the wall and held there in what my Aunt Elaine called a 'spacer's crouch,' pulled in on myself and ready to kick off, but steady and mostly unmoving. "Wait, it gets better!"

Can't say the monster didn't learn; he tried his very best to emulate my 'collapse' when he hit the ceiling, and to be honest, he did it way, way better than I had the first time I'd tried it up in Asimov Station— but it didn't quite work. He bounced again… and drifted towards the floor very slowly.

"Hey, Mr. I've-Killed-More-Slayers-Than-You've-Had-Birthdays," I called. "Two words for you: _Ramming speed!"_

I kicked off hard, angled up just slightly— and I mean Slayer-hard. I hit that son-of-a-bitch with the stake end of the Scythe at a ridiculous speed, and all of that speed, all of that _inertia,_ got focused on a tiny little area the size of the tip of a nice, pointy stake.

I timed it right— and the stake part of the Scythe punched right through Krakarn's plate mail and into his heart. He dusted, but not so fast that I couldn't push off of his form towards the ground.

I got back to the ground, sucked up the little speed I had with a collapse, and took a deep breath. A second later, I heard a dim shout, and looked up to see Piper, standing on the ceiling at the other end of that football-field-sized room, wave at me— then make a sort of a patting motion with both hands that I took to mean "stay on the ground." I carefully waved back, moving slowly to prevent myself from picking up too much motion, and a few seconds later, gravity came back.

My aches and pains kicked up into high gear again, but I didn't really mind— I'd just beaten the oldest vampire alive. Sure, I'd had help, but still, I'd done the job, and I felt sure Buffy would've approved of the how.

"Okay," I said. "One last job to do."

I turned to that big wooden door, found the handle and the push-down thumb latch above it, and found it unlocked. I pushed, and it didn't open, so I pulled.

The door opened, and I found myself facing not one, but two Warren-bots, both wearing the miserable bastard's original face.

"Hi, sweetie," they said in perfect synch. "Say, wanna guess what I did a couple of minutes ago?"

"I really don't c—"

"I killed your mom, you stupid little _bitch!"_ they said— and I knew, somehow, that they were telling me the truth.

_**88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888**_

_Cleveland, below ground:_

Rose Killian held up a hand as she reached the place where the tunnel the group moved through should open out into the chamber of the Hellmouth proper, and everyone behind her stopped. She turned and gestured Elaine forward, and her first lover came to her as Rose sat down with her back to the chamber opening, knelt a yard or so back, then leaned forward and grabbed hold of Rose's ankles.

"What the— oh, that's smart!" Armsman murmured as Rose fell backwards, looked right, left, and as near straight behind herself as she could, then flipped her hand up— and Elaine straightened up and pulled Rose clear of the chamber entrance by her feet. "I'm going to remember that."

"Brian Daley, Han Solo at Star's End, cool," Cyber Knight said, and Armsman looked at him oddly. Knight gestured at Rose and said, "I'll bet that's where she learned it. That's where I remember it from."

Rose motioned everyone back, moved back with them, and said quietly, "Ugly. A few dozen vampires, all in game-face, probably three dozen other various and sundry demons, all of them looking at the Hellmouth. There's a bunch of gadgets— look like power winches, only tricked out, or— look, if they needed power winches in an episode of _Star Trek: Regeneration,_ they'd look like that, you know? Stylized and futuristic.

"There are six of those, and a team of demons guarding each one."

"Not good," Elaine said. "Warren… he tried to knock Asimov Station down the second time by just blowing up a bunch of his bodies while they were on the side of the station pointed away from Earth, right?"

"Right," Starpulse said, nodding.

"So what happens if he explodes a bunch of himself down in the Hellmouth?" Elaine asked— and everyone on the team looked worried.

"Nothing good," Ballard said after a moment. "I think… that might blow it wide open, let pretty much anything pass in and out of it at will."

"Judas _goat,_ I never even met this guy and I'm willing to nominate him for 'Supervillain of the Year,' " Armsman muttered.

"Yeah," Rose said. Her face darkened for a moment and she said, "Imagine how we feel. Especially since we're going to have to you flyers take him— we can't go down the hole and fight him."

"Oh, please!" Cyber Knight said, stepping forward. "Rose. It's me standing here. You read the comics with 'Pulse, right?"

Rose nodded, then said, "I did, but that was a long time ago."

"And you've got other crap on your mind, yeah, sorry," Knight said, and he managed to look contrite through some trick of posture. "Listen, I can override the gizmos, I'm pretty sure, get him up here before he can do anything about it.

"Then… well, I'm no Sin-Fire, and I don't _want_ to be that ass-goblin, but I'm damn sure not gonna squawk if you folks kill this shithead deader than hell. Several times. Each."

"Okay," Rose said, straightening up and squaring her shoulders. "Big question is can you do it from here?"

"Sure," Knight said. "Super-robot-shithead has remote control from down in the pit. I can override him. In fact, I've been hacking the system while we talk, and I'm almost in… give me another few— oh. Never mind, it's done.

"Rose, on your order, I'll override the winches and bring all six Warren-bots up at emergency full speed. He's… almost two hundred feet down, so that will take… eight or so seconds from your order, nine if you give it in ninety seconds, ten if within three minutes."

"Okay, so… guys, this is going to take all of us." Rose dry-scrubbed her face and closed her eyes for a moment. "Pride and a need to kill this bastich be damned. We do this _right_. No one else dies, and Warren gets to do no more damage than he's done already.

"Ballard, you and Armsman are a pair. Vincent, you and Faith. Sh'rin, you and Cyber Knight work as a pair. Me and Elaine. Colin, you've fought him before and should know what to do to kill him fast, you work alone. Willow… you're our big gun backup. You help whoever needs it most, and please, Wil… remember what I said. Screw pride, screw paybacks— if it looks like he might hurt any of us badly, you kill him as fast and efficiently as you can.

"Questions?"

No one said anything, and after a moment, Rose said, "Okay. When I say 'now,' we charge out there and start killing stuff. Knight, you start the winches up then, that should give us a few seconds to clear the worst of the demons away from the winches. Super-types, witches, feel free to get massively violent, but no friendly-fire accidents, please.

"We go in three… two… one… now!"

Rose Killian led the way, took three steps and leapt into the air improbably high (until you remembered the Slayer power), spun like a figure skater, her arms held crossed on her chest, and lashed out with a kick at the first demon to come in range, a tall, thick-bodied thing with black skin, red horns curling up from its forehead, and red spikes at every joint. Her foot slammed into the demon's chest left of center and imparted some spin to it— as well as knocking it back into the thirty-foot diameter pit that led to the actual dimensional gateway of the Hellmouth, some seven hundred feet below.

As she landed, Rose drew her sword and lay about her with what seemed like mad abandon— until you realized that her sword never came within a foot of Elaine, who fought on Rose's left, wielding a short sword as she moved at and around the monsters in the insane, dancelike acrobatics of Capoeira.

Cyber Knight scooped up Sh'rin and flew to the far side of the Hellmouth, tucked her carefully against his chest as he slammed into a knot of demons at close to a hundred miles an hour. Three hundred and fifty pounds of metal wrapped around a hundred and seventy pounds of man, carrying a hundred and ten pounds of woman, all moving at a hundred miles an hour? Demons flew like bowling pins before a professional bowler who also just happened to be an angry weightlifter.

Cyber Knight set Sh'rin down in the cleared are he'd created, turned to one side and raised his left arm at the mass of vampires and demons to his left. A raised half-circle of metal about an inch in height on the back of his gauntlet opened as he leveled his arm and said, "Hey, guys, is it just me or is it getting hot in here?"

For a moment, no monster moved, then a vampire near the front of the group snarled and charged.

Flame poured out of the back of Cyber Knight's gauntlet as though under tremendous pressure, burned down the eight vampires he sprayed with the jet of burning chemicals, and actually staggered the two demons in the group for whom fire didn't mean instant death as though they were ordinary humans hit with a fire hose.

"Nope, it's not just me," Cyber Knight said cheerfully.

Sh'rin, who had been looking at the edge of the pit, waiting for the Warren that would be appearing soon, laughed for a second— before the Warren-bot attached to the winch nearest her and Cyber Knight came flying up out of the Hellmouth, attached by some sort of harness to the cable and winch— as did four others at four of the five other winches.

Cyber Knight had been smart, and not brought each winch all the way up before stopping them; he'd left ten feet of cable free, and the Warren-bots at the end of those cables came up out of the pit, flew up over the winches, jerked to a halt and slammed into the ground _very_ hard some feet from the edge of the pit.

Sh'rin, the first of the new Guardians, didn't often use her magics offensively— which by no means had anything to do with lack of ability. She preferred to fight with her sword, hands, and feet, having improved all of those skills in the fifteen years since she came to Normal not long after the original Activation Day.

But against Warren— the Machine, who had killed Alex Harris and Chief, killed poor Royal, nearly killed Jocelyn, been responsible in part for the deaths of many others, and who had nearly destroyed the spirits of the women who had been her family and her teachers before coming to what was, to her, the distant future— against that monster, she used magic with no hesitation.

"_Karado h'ros tikon!"_ Sh'rin said in a low, anger-filled voice. As she finished she pointed her left hand, the hand closer to the heart, closer to the emotion that drove her spell, at the Machine who had caused so much hurt.

The energy that poured from her hand could not be seen by normal human eyes— but the results could hardly be missed.

The Warren-bot had sat up, and his right hand and arm had begun to morph into some sort of weapon, but it did not finish its transformation before the magnetism that Sh'rin had summoned and localized slammed into the thing's spinal substitute at about waist level.

Magnetism and fine computer control do not go well together, Sh'rin knew that from her time here. She intuited that Warren, a machine she knew to be controlled by computers from things others had said, would be very susceptible to magnetic disruption, and in that, she was very, _very_ correct. The Warren-bot spasmed violently, its body arcing up on heels and back of head so sharply that something inside it cracked audibly, almost loudly, and the thing began flopping around on the ground violently, like a giant trout jerked from a river to the bank. From it came a squawking, inhuman voice that said, "Error four-oh-one, bitches. Error four-oh-one, bitches. Error four-oh-one, bitches," over and over. After perhaps half a dozen repetitions, the phrase dragged to a halt and the robot fell still.

"Nice!" Cyber Knight said, even as he pulled a cylinder from his belt and ignited his blade of light again. "Very nice, Sh'rin!" With that, he began cutting up the body, making sure that it couldn't harm anyone despite its apparent shutdown.

Elsewhere around the circle, Rose and Elaine had beheaded and de-limbed their Warren, Armsman had cut the legs out from under his, and was killing demons as Ballard smashed the Warren-bot to pieces. Vincent and Faith had theirs wrapped up in the steel cable it had been descending into the pit on, and it was screaming at them to let it go, or it would kill them horribly.

"Hey, Cyber Knight," Willow called from where she floated near a crushed ball that had been a robot a moment before. "I think your trick worked. He's got no self control at all."

"Yeah, I guess it did," Cyber Knight said, casually cutting down a Chiswinth that charged at Sh'rin before it could get close. "Damn, this guy's a real loser."

"One missing," called Armsman as he went after the last Warren, which was starting around at the disaster, swearing constantly, and trying to unfasten the harness that held it on the end of the cable it had been descending on. The emergency-speed reel in and sudden stop at the end had bent the buckle hopelessly out of shape, though, and all it could do was sit there and twist frantically at the buckle.

"Yeah, I don't know— hey, where's Starpulse?"

From below, in the pit, came a huge explosion.

The Warren-bot that was still twisting at the buckle on its harness looked up and giggled maniacally. "He was down there. With the last of me. When I blew up!" Suddenly, the thing got a wild look in its eyes, and it said, "Hey, that's a great id—"

Cyber Knight's light blade split it down the middle before it finished the thought, and the hero turned to the Hellmouth pit, now belching flame and smoked into the cave at a scary rate.

"Starpulse!" he shouted. "Are you down there, man?"

No voice came back, but a moment later, a hand in a badly tattered black glove came up out of the pit, and slapped to the stone near Elaine Marshall's foot, and a weary, wobbly voice said, "Ow."

Rose and Elaine bent and grabbed Starpulse by the arms and pulled him up and out of the pit. Promptly, he flopped to his back, raised one hand into the air, index finger raised, and said, "No, really. Ow!"

Sh'rin arrived at his side, stared at the remains of his costume— more gone than there— and said, "My gods, Colin, what happened?"

"Starpulse," he corrected gently. "Always Starpulse when I've got the costume on, please, Sh'rin."

"You barely qualify, right now, my friend," Sh'rin said, taking his pulse. "What happened?"

"One of him cut the cable before he went any distance up, and…." Starpulse sat up slowly, then said, "His hand was a blade. He jammed it in the wall, angled it some, used that to get to the bottom at a survivable speed. I went down when only five came up. He fought me, but not real well, I grabbed him when I heard his overload whine start up, and started flying up." Starpulse looked down at himself and said, "I didn't think I could survive an explosion that big, not point blank, but… well, I swear, I heard…." He trailed off, glanced at Rose and shook his head. "Never mind. Imagination in overdrive."

"Tell us, Starpulse," Rose said, her voice level. "Even if it's something that hurts… well, you're here, alive. Can't hurt all that bad."

Starpulse looked at Rose, then said slowly, "I thought I heard Giles say, 'the Powers will help preserve you, as they promised to try to do, Colin. They owe you much, and Jocelyn needs you, dear boy.' Then… well, then I heard… I didn't ever get to know him that well, but I think it was Alex Harris, he said, 'yeah, your credit's way in the good column, hero.' Then… well, then BOOM, and then I was at the edge, and about to pass out, and you guys grabbed me."

Even as Rose's eyes welled up with tears, she managed to chuckle and say, "That was Alex, all right. And Dad… thanks, Starpulse."

For a long moment, they all stood there in silence, then Rose shook herself and looked at Willow. "Contact Dawn, see if we can go help clean the rest of this up."

Willow made the call, and a few moments later, their group joined the others at Eastland Mall.

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_Jocelyn:_

I wanted to scream. I wanted to scream and cry, and curl up into a ball and let grief have its way with me.

But more than that, _so much more than that,_ I wanted to KILL WARREN, over, and over, and over, and—

"Murdering freak!" I snarled, and I moved. There was no way that even two of him could stand up to me, not now, not anymore— but behind him, down a short hall, I could see a glowing spell diagram on the floor, and Catherine Madison walked past it, examining it, even as I looked. I needed to do this quickly.

Warren laughed, a high, tittering thing, and said, "Told you bitches I'd kill you both, didn't I?"

I kicked that one as hard as I could, jumped in and drove the ball of my foot into it's sternum, sent it flying backwards into the wall. Immediately, the other one snarled and leapt at me, its fist going back and starting around in a punch that… well, it made no real sense. I'd fought this asshole already, and he knew better than the Redneck Classic punch. You know, the one where they throw their fist back as far as they can, then bring it around in this great big, looping punch, that, while it might be devastating if it hit, comes so slowly that a turtle on tranquilizers can dodge it pretty easily.

Yet here it came, the Redneck Classic, not even any finger-blades or anything, just a punch that I could dodge in my sleep.

So I blocked it, instead— with the edge of the scythe. The blade hit Warren's oncoming arm midway between wrist and elbow, and the lower half of his lower arm separated from his body neatly, and flew past me. Warren stopped, looked stupidly at his arm where I'd made the cut using his own strength, then looked up at me and said, "You BITCH!"

I had no time or patience for this bag of shit, so I simply used the scythe in a way that I'd seen Buffy use it on a Hurkulpo demon recently, and heard the story of her doing to Caleb, the First Evil's psycho preacher. Given that Catherine was doing something that could return the First evil to the world, it seemed appropriate to split this Warren-bot in half— from groin to head.

I did it in a single attempt, kicked the pieces aside, and started for the last Warren-bot, which was still near the wall— and trying to press itself back into the wall, by the look of things.

"You can't do this to us!" it yelled as I stalked towards it. "You're just a girl! JUST A _**GIRL,**_ YOU BITCH!"

I didn't dignify the miserable excuse for a food processor with a response. I just gave it the same treatment I'd given the other one, while it cowered against the wall and cupped its hands over its crotch.

Then I went down the hall, walking quickly, trying to focus on what I might have to do here. There wasn't anyone else to take out Catherine Madison… so I might have to kill her, and as much as the part of me that hurt over my Mom's death wanted to do that, right now… most of me knew that it would break some part of me that I might never be able to fix.

I entered the room where the actual spell was being cast, and found Catherine herself now in the middle of the diagram on the floor, which glowed that deep blue she liked so much.

"You're too late," she called. "I have the power gathered. I have the diagram ready. I have only to say thirteen syllables, and the First Evil returns, and opens a Hellmouth, right here. I have a force field up around the diagram, so you can't attack me, or destroy the wizard's knot that holds the power in, like your mentor did to my daughter so long ago.

"So… what now, child?"

I stopped and I looked at her across twenty feet of diagram, and I said, my voice perfectly level, "Why? Why continue? Do you know that will happen if you bring the First Evil back and it opens a Hellmouth here?"

"I have some familiarity with Hellmouths, girl," she replied. "I lived on one for most of my life."

I shook my head. "You don't know. Amy didn't, either, Willow said. But then… well, I don't think Amy would have cared."

"Neither will I," Catherine said, her voice hard.

"Really?" I asked. I shook my head. "I think you do. I think you do care, Mrs. Madison, because you keep… giving us chances to stop you. You don't have to. You could have kept us all out, but no, you play these… these tired, egotistical, super-villain games of riddles and locks and ways to get to you.

"You do care— and you need to know if you call the First Evil, and it opens a hell mouth here, this close to the one in Cleveland… well, that will have one of two effects— either Hellmouths will open all over the world, spaced anywhere to two hundred to four hundred miles apart, but no more than that— or one huge, gaping Hellmouth will open that covers all of the ground between here… and Cleveland. If that happens… it's all over. The Old Ones come back, and the human race… dies."

That shook her. I could see it. Still, she didn't shut down the spell.

"Why do you think I care?" she asked. "Why do you think that will stop me?"

"Because your heart isn't in this." I sighed, and sat down on the floor at the edge of the circle. "It hasn't been for a while, now, and I think… I think you realized that you were doing to others what we did to you. I think you realized that you were taking people's daughters from them. And you didn't even have the reason we had, the _need_ to do it to save lives."

"You… you bastards didn't have to kill her!" Catherine said, her voice breaking.

"Yes." I sighed. "Yes, I think they did. Mrs. Madison, do you know how many deaths are directly attributable to your daughter?"

"That doesn't matter!" Catherine said, her voice rising. "She was hurt, she wasn't in— she wasn't okay! You could have helped her, you—"

I spread my arms out to indicate the diagram on the floor. "Where's your sacrifice?"

"Wh-what?" she asked.

"I see the diagram, I know that this is way, _way_ freaking harder at an equinox than it was for Amy at the winter solstice," I said, staying calm. "But I don't see a sacrifice."

"I'm strong enough that I don't have to sacrifice anyone for this," Catherine said. "All those years trapped in my damned trophy, they made me strong, so strong that… I don't have to do that."

"Amy did it," I said. "She sacrificed a little girl. Seventh daughter of a seventh daughter. Nine years old. She did it… and she did it slowly. That wasn't part of the ritual, Willow said, and she had no reason to lie. But Amy took… her… time… about killing a little girl."

"Shut up," Catherine said, her voice now very low.

"Amy didn't want help. She wanted nothing but to hurt Willow… because Willow was better than her at magic, and Willow… found her way again. Went bad… and came back." I shook my head. "Amy did everything she did out of hate… and she _liked it."_

"That's a lie!" Catherine hissed. "Amy wanted to… to make… she wanted… she…."

"She was broken," I said, very softly. "She caused so many deaths, and she liked it. She was past help, Mrs. Madison. Your daughter died because she killed and killed and killed and she liked it, and was never, ever going to stop."

"No, Amy was… was… she was hurt, and… and scared, and—" Catherine Madison let out a harsh sob, and covered her mouth with her hand, and sank to her knees there in the middle of her diagram. "She was… she was my daughter!"

"I know," I said. "I understand that, believe me. But what you've done? You've cost so many women their daughters, and… you helped Warren, and he killed my friend Alex, Buffy's son. He tried repeatedly to kill her daughter. He had a hand in killing my grandpa… and he killed my _mom."_ I gulped down tears. "You want to kill more people? Maybe everyone on Earth? Is that what happens now, is that how you use your power? To do to millions, maybe billions of people out of some twisted sense of paybacks what my family did to you because they had no choice? Because it was the only way to keep someone who had gone insane from killing again and again and _again?"_

Catherine sobbed again, and wrapped her arms across her stomach, knelt there and shook.

"You don't have to be that way," I said, just loud enough to be sure that she heard me. "Please. Please, stop it. Stop it, let it go… let it end without anyone else dying. Please."

For a long moment, Catherine didn't move, just knelt there and sobbed. Then she straightened up some and said, "I… Drusilla. She was going after Angel Kilpatrick and his wife, she was going to… to torture their daughter, torture her like—"

"She failed," I said. "She failed, and she was dusted. The Warren-bot with her was destroyed. Helena's fine."

Catherine stood up and faced me. After a moment, she said something quiet and waved a hand. "The force field is gone. You can… cut the knot, now. It's at the south edge of the circle. Go on."

I stood, but there was something… wrong, still. "What happens if I do that?"

"The power runs out of the circle," Catherine said, "and the threat is over."

I frowned. Something was wrong, still. She wasn't looking at me while she talked. "What happens to you?"

"I… the circle is bound up with my life," she said. "I made it that way— I had to, to power it, since this is an equinox. When you cut the knot… I die."

"What?" I said. I shook my head. "No, I can't do that, I won't—"

"I am ready to die," Catherine said. "I… don't want to go on. I've turned into something… if I live, I may well go bad again, young lady. Jocelyn, isn't it?"

"Yes, I'm Jocelyn." I sighed. "We need to figure something out, then, because I won't kill you, Mrs. Madison."

"I can't be trusted," she said calmly. "And I think you need to call me Catherine."

"Catherine, I don't have any intention of killing you," I said firmly. "Surely you can… repurpose the spell, can't you? So you use the energy, and then don't die when I cut the knot?"

"I… could try that," Catherine said. She shook her head a little. "There's a LOT of energy, here, though. Any thoughts?"

I closed my eyes, then spoke, my voice small and frightened— frightened to hope. "Could you… bring my mom back?"

"I… no, Jocelyn." Catherine let out a watery sigh. "I can't break the laws of magic, and Warren… he couldn't have killed her magically, so I can't bring her back. I'm sorry. I… truly, I am."

I nodded. I'd known that, but… I had to ask. "Okay. So… are there more Warrens?"

"Yes," she said. "Yes, there are half a dozen out there, at least, doing nothing at all dangerous, so that he can try again later if this fails."

"Could you… find all of him," I asked, slowly, "depower him to… to where he's like a normal human, so he can't hurt people… and teleport all of him to the mall? Pretty much to Buffy?"

Catherine actually smiled a little. "I can. Given the comments he made in the few minutes before you arrived, and the way he acted when you ended those two of him? I won't even feel guilty, really. I think I saw the real Warren Mears… and he was a miserable ball of male chauvinist _asshole."_

"You got that right," I mutter-sniffled.

Catherine worked for a moment, erased many spell lines, made new ones, then chanted quietly— and said, "Done. Any and all Warren-bots are now within thirty feet of Buffy, and they're reduced to normal human strength. I can't do much about the abilities I don't understand… but I'm sure that your people can handle him.

"I still have a good bit of power left. Is there anything else… big and possible that I can do for you?"

I thought for a moment, then had a brilliant idea, I hoped. "You can't break the laws of magic, but… well, what about a workaround? I mean— someone from another universe that was meant to die in that universe, they can't go back without dying, right?" Catherine nodded. I took a deep breath. "Okay, well… what about contacting that universe? Can you do that?"

Catherine nodded slowly, and said, "I believe so. What am I looking for, here?"

I talked for a couple of minutes, and she worked for a couple more, then a circle of light opened in front of me, and I found myself looking into what appeared to be a sumptuously appointed apartment, filled with overstuffed furniture, all of it old-fashioned and scrupulously clean. At a small dining room table facing the gateway Catherine had opened, two people sat staring in absolute shock through it at me. One was a heavyset (but not actually fat) man who looked to be in his nineties, but still ambulatory, and the other a forty-something woman, long and slender, with a long blond braid that hung to her waist.

"Hello," I said. "I'm sorry to intrude on you like this, but… I have news that I think you need to hear. News about Judith Jane Holmes."

Both of them reacted, though differently. The woman closed her eyes and winced in pain, and the man glared at me. "My niece," he said, in a voice that promised thunder and punishment, "has been dead for very nearly three weeks, young woman. If this is some sort of joke, it is in _exceptionally_ poor taste."

"That's the thing, sir," I said, and I took a deep breath. "Sir, the portal that is allowing me to speak to you? It's magical. I know that this may seem anathema to you, but it's true, Mr. Holmes. And… sir, like the sciences, magic has laws. Laws that simply cannot be broken or subverted. One of those laws is that if someone is, by accident, translated from one parallel universe to another, and was meant to die in their own universe at or near the time of translation, they can only return to that reality at that time and place.

"And that was what happened to Judith. We checked, and to send her home would be to kill her in a horrible way. We couldn't do that, wouldn't, and though it hurts her to be away from you both… she is learning to live here, now, in my world, as a part of my extended family, a part of my life."

Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's older, smarter brother, opened his mouth to snarl at me— but Mary Russell-Holmes, Judith's mother, held her hand up in his direction and said, her voice firm, "Mycroft, wait. Look at her. Look at how she's dressed, and for god's sake, man, look at how she is addressing us." Mycroft closed his mouth, but continued to glare at me as Judith's mother continued. "Young lady— may I ask your name?"

"My name is Jocelyn Penobscot, ma'am," I said evenly. "Please, call me Jocelyn."

"All right, Jocelyn," Mary Russell-Holmes said, her eyes on mine, "can you offer me any proof that what you say is true?"

"I have no physical proof, no," I said, sighing in frustration. "The circumstances that led me to be able to do this, to talk to you, are… they weren't expected. But… there is something that I can tell you, ma'am, that… I know how hard it is for me to hide things from my parents, and I suspect that it is true of Judith, as well— because, frankly, the idea of even trying to fool you or your husband is… I know I couldn't do it. So there is something I can tell you that… it may convince you. It might embarrass Judith that I told you, but… it may make you able to accept what I say."

"All right," Judith's mother said. "Tell me, please."

"I have… I have braided Judith's hair for her," I said, fighting a blush. I went pink, but not red, I think.

Mary's eyes widened some, and Mycroft started in his chair. Apparently, he knew of the significance of that act to Mary, and thus probably to Judith, and I felt my face getting warmer as he said, "Now, just one moment, here—"

"Mycroft." Mary's voice was calm, but her eyes were locked on mine. "Mycroft, it is… very possible. Judith… finds both sexes attractive."

Mycroft Holmes turned very red, and looked down at the plate of food in front of him. After a long moment, he said, "I am aware. I was not… aware that you knew."

"She's my daughter, Mycroft, of course I knew," Mary said. "I have no issue with it, however, and saw no reason to… tell anyone else."

"Neither did I," Mycroft said. He sighed. "Do you love my niece, young woman?"

"Yes, I do," I said calmly. "Very, very much. Which is why I made this effort, took advantage of… unexpected circumstances, so that… so that you could at least know that she's well, alive, and learning to be happy.

"But… there is more…."

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_Eastland Mall, Aboveground:_

"YOU CAN'T DO THIS!" the last of the seven Warren-bots that had appeared in a circle around Buffy (even as the crew of the spaceship _Serenity_ faded away) screamed as Xander Harris, a grim look on his face, advanced on the thing, stepping over the one that Buffy had killed moments before to do so. "I'M A FREAKING SUPER-GENIUS! YOU CAN'T KILL ME, YOU'RE A FREAKING _**IDIOT!"**_

"Funny," Xander said, the longsword in his hands going back over his head. "See, most people would consider anyone who deliberately pissed off my wife to be the idiot. Doesn't much matter, though, you son of a bitch— because YOU'RE DEAD!"

Xander split the robot in two with a blow driven by all the pain of Alex's death, and all the rage he felt towards the man who had killed both Xander's son and the man he'd spent years thinking of as his father. Then he turned and looked at Buffy and said, his voice much, much more like his old self, "So, honey… do you feel better, now? I feel better, now."

"Much better," Buffy said, sighing. She shook her head and looked at Whitey Penobscot, sitting near the Warren that he'd killed himself, sitting and crying on Vi' Chandler's shoulder— Vi and Chantelle had been best friends, pretty much. She looked at Rose, Elaine, Sh'rin and Dawn, clustered around Ballard, all of them weeping, and sighed. "I wish… I wish none of it had happened, but still… I feel better, now.

"I just wish I knew where Joyce was…."

Behind Buffy, concrete shifted and slid, and she spun around, ready to defend against whatever monster was coming for them now.


	51. One Last Dance…

To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 51: One Last Dance….

_Jocelyn:_

I led the way up. Catherine had told me how to get upstairs, and I went back, found Piper, Joyce, and Ian, and we all went up through the hidden door— which was right behind the console of locks that had opened the big vault door. I felt stupid. (Harry Dresden had vanished a very few moments after I'd finally broken the circle around Catherine Madison, if I had the timing right.)

I went in front, and Catherine came behind me, her hands tied behind her back, with Piper marching her along carefully. We came to a door a ways down that hall, I used the key Catherine had given me, and it opened, and stairs led up. A ways up, I pressed a button on a landing… and more stairs descended from above us. I went up them and came out on the concrete path that had been the magical gate down. The first thing I saw was Buffy, looking sharp and ready to fight— until she saw me.

Then there were people all around us, and hugs, and Graham took Catherine Madison off and cuffed her, and Xander and Buffy were holding onto Joyce and crying, and I saw my dad, and I… held on for a moment, didn't go to him just yet. Soon, yes— but I had one thing to do first, one thing that… well, it might make the hurt of mom dying a little easier to bear.

I found Judith, waved her over, and she came, hugged me, and kissed me. "Are you quite all right, Penobscot?" she asked after we parted.

"I'm… as good as I can be," I said. "I… Warren, he killed…."

"I know," she said. "I know, love, and I'm so damned sorry. I wish… I can't see my mother again, but she's still out there, somewhere. I wish I could… share that comfort with you, I do, Jocelyn."

I smiled a little, wiped my eyes with my arm, and said, "I… Judith. Maybe you can. Maybe… maybe you can."

With that, I took her by the shoulders and turned her around.

Mary Russell-Holmes had done as I'd asked, come out quietly and gotten behind Judith, waited for me to spring the surprise on her— she'd said it was the least she could do in return for bringing her here. (Mycroft Holmes had stayed, because he was an integral part of Britain's intelligence services, and there was a war on. But he had thanked me very courteously for the knowledge that Judith still lived, and for ensuring that she and her mother would be reunited.)

Judith turned, stared, then slowly, carefully pinched herself very hard on the arm, said a mild, "Ow"— and flung herself into her mother's arms, where they clung to each other and cried for a while.

I watched for a second, then went to crawl into my daddy's lap and cry for my mom.

We went home soon after, and the next morning, when I got up, Buffy said that Catherine Madison had died sometime in the night, had taken a slow-acting poison before she ever started her spell, apparently. She'd left a note that said only, "Tell Jocelyn that I said thank you for keeping me from becoming any worse than I am, and that I'm sorry… but I can't live with the things I've done."

I didn't go to her funeral, and I've never been to her grave… but I don't hate her. Not any more. She paid the price for what she did, and she did put some things right before she died.

_**88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888**_

That was… almost eleven years ago, now. It's Labor Day of 2029, and I've been working on this off and on for the last year or so.

The aftermath… well. We buried my mom and Giles, and then, a few days after, my family and I took a little away time… in Amber. The mystical realm that, in their worldview, is the center of all realities, and maybe _is,_ for all I know. Corwin stuck around after things were over, as promised, and he… well, he knew some of what Dad and the rest of us were feeling, and we spent some time on another freaking world to take our minds off of our pain, some. It helped, and these days? Well, Corwin comes around three or four times a year, as do Merlin and Coral, the youngest of the Amberites, and Corwin's sister, Fiona. (She's gotten to be great friends with Aunt Dawn and Aunt Sh'rin, and apparently thinks of Kelly Giles as a mother-figure.) And Ghostwheel, Merlin's sentient AI, he helps us out a LOT. He likes us, and Merlin likes us, and King Random thinks we're pretty much okey-dokey, so Ghostwheel acts as a transportation system for us, and our response times are WAY down, thanks to him.

Also… thanks to Ghostwheel, there are more and more worlds where the good and decent people of the lands have lifelong friends… of the winged and scaly variety. There are pseudo dragons all over Amber, all over Colin's home Earth, and a lot of other places. Including the Earth where Harry Dresden, Wizard, married Buffy Summers, refugee from an Earth that no longer had any magic. Harry's dragon friend is one of Ripley's first brood, a boy who named himself Thews, to Harry's vast amusement.

But before that, not long after the birth of my daughter— more on that later— a bunch of us went to space, and there… well, Spider Robinson got to see Aunt Elaine dance in space, live. And he also saw, at the same time, the first _company_ dance ever done in space. He even played guitar along with part of the music. James Tanner wrote the music, of course, and Spider and Judith played with him and the London Symphony Orchestra, Spider on guitar, Judith on cello. The dance itself… well, that was the most fulfilling thing I've ever done that didn't involve saving a life— or bringing one into the world.

_**88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888**_

Open, empty space. Into it walked a single figure, gliding on momentum from a brief burst of jets, but making the motions of walking, or perhaps dancing…. Aunt Elaine, in her clear, thin spacesuit, a white top and blue leggings under it, and she turned walking into dancing, as she can't help but do. In the background, slow, yet somehow threatening music, long, sustained notes from the woodwinds of the orchestra.

Very suddenly, a hulking figure seemed to drop on her from above, as though from nowhere. It came down, reaching, as the music roared— and it missed, as Aunt Elaine, visibly laughing, dove away, tucking and rolling as though on the ground, not in space. She recovered, and the monster— an indistinct form in gray, save for the face, that of a handsome man, distorted by the bumps, brow ridges, and yellow eyes of a vampire— came after her. The battle was short, and the monster "died," and was flung out of the picture. Aunt Elaine turned to go… and more monsters appeared, another "vampire" accompanied by a "classic" demon and a female vampire (who had brown hair and whose body bent in places and ways that few living beings could). They fought, and for a moment, things looked grim for the slayer… until the music swelled, and she "jumped" up above the group as they charged her. Her hand went up, the camera and a discreet spotlight followed—

—and she grabbed the scythe, even as the light hit it and reflected every which way, lit up three more girls, each dressed in what looked like a t-shirt and jeans under her spacesuit. One girl was small, delicate looking, and red-haired, another was almost as small, almost as delicate, and had thick, almost black hair, and the last… she had long, kinky, blond hair and violet eyes.

The music EXPLODED into fanfare, borrowed heavily from _Also sprach Zarathustra_ (from 2001: A Space Odyssey), took a bit from David Bowie's Space Oddity, and deliberately evoked pretty much everything John Williams ever wrote for movies about heroes.

As the music exploded, Aunt Rose, Joyce and I joined in the battle. Aunt Elaine started with the scythe, passed it to Aunt Rose when she was flagging, who sent it to Joyce when she needed the boost, who passed it to me when the "monster" I was fighting got the better of me. In very short order, we "destroyed" those monsters, and for a few minutes, we just "sparred," danced with and around each other while we "trained," and the music shifted to something that was a peculiar-but-brilliant mix of playful as hell, but somehow urgent and important.

Then there were more monsters, six of them this time, and we fought them off, were tired out and wounded by our battle… and again, light hit the scythe, and more girls were "called" to the battle, though they mostly just danced around the edges, did the simple and repetitive things that were the space-dancing equivalent of being in the chorus line.

The cycle repeated, became more complex with each battle, and always, we won, though we paid a price. Aunt Rose "died," and was mourned, was replaced by Aunt Dawn, Aunt Elaine "died," and was mourned, was replaced by Autumn Innes, and we fought on.

At the end, there were four of us fighting a dozen monsters, and we won… and we celebrated, and we went our separate ways, "spread out across the world," as it were. The camera followed Aunt Dawn as she danced off, then Autumn, then Joyce, and finally, it focused on me. I had the scythe (the others had _insisted_ on that during the choreography), and I slung it up on my right shoulder like a baseball bat as I "walked" away from the camera— and just at the last point where you could clearly see my face, I looked back at the camera… and jerked my chin in a gesture that plainly said, "come on, let's go." I kept "walking," climbed an invisible hill… and at the top, I "leapt into the air" and thrust the scythe into the air in a gesture that was part triumph, part exuberance— and pure, unadulterated JOY.

Then I faded out, and the title faded in: Chosen!

Just like that, exclamation point and all. And then, the credits:

Elaine Marshall as First Slayer

Ballard Innes as The Vampire, A Vampire and Other Monsters

Piper Benjamin as Female Vampire(s) the Tentacle Monster and Other Monsters

Colin Riley as The Demon and Other Monsters

Rose Killian as Second Slayer

Joyce Harris as Third Slayer

Dawn Innes as Fifth Slayer

Autumn Innes as Sixth Slayer

Stephen Penobscot as A Vampire and A Werewolf

Nathaniel Innes as Several Monsters

Riley Giles as Several Monsters and A Watcher

Brianne Penobscot as An Imp

Danielle Penobscot as An Imp

And Jocelyn Penobscot as _the Prime Slayer_.

Scythe mock-up by Xander Harris

Choreography by Elaine Marshall, Joyce Harris and Jocelyn Penobscot

All dancers trained by Elaine Marshall

Musical score by James Tanner, who wishes to acknowledge the works of Richard Strauss, David Bowie, and the collected works of John Williams, all of whom informed this score.

Music performed by James Tanner (synthesizer), the London Symphony Orchestra, Spider Robinson (guitar) and Judith Holmes (cello)

Cinematography by Ballard Innes and Elaine Marshall

Directed by Ballard Innes

Cameras and cameramen supplied by Asimov Station

(Of _course_ that was a mock-up scythe! You really, REALLY don't want to go swinging around and tossing back and forth something _that sharp_ while you're in space suits, okay!?)

We knocked that one out of the park. No six stars on a five-star scale, like Aunt Elaine got for _Souls, Like Scattered Stars_, but lots of five star reviews, and lots and lots of money. And Aunt Elaine has had all of us work with her since, too. But Chosen! is the only time I've ever helped choreograph anything, and will probably remain the only time I do so. It's the only thing I ever really needed to say with dance, I guess….

Like I said, that was a while ago, now. I'm almost twenty-six, and… things have changed. And if you're observant, you probably saw something in the bit before I described Chosen! that you're curious about. I'll get to it, don't worry.

Daddy and Gwen are actually married now, and I have a little brother named Owen Whitelaw. They have a girlfriend… Sara Lamont is their third, lives here, now. Chelsea Yoder… she died when she lost her Slayer powers in the middle of a fight with a half a dozen vampires. Sara needed to get out of Australia after that, moved here, worked with us, and about fifteen months after Mom died, she and Dad and Gwen started dating, very cautiously. It got less cautious very quickly, and a month or so after their first date, Sara moved in with them. She had a little girl five years ago, and my sister Michelle Chelsea is a doll.

Buffy and Xander are still here, and Buffy's still training girls. Xander runs the Watcher's council, and I've never heard anyone say a bad word about how he does it. A month after the Second Battle of Bloomington, Buffy turned up pregnant, and their son, Will Giles Harris is a good kid. Joyce practically dotes on him, but no one really minds. The boy is sharp— he's skipped a grade in school already, will probably skip another soon.

Kelly is still here, her and Riley both, though Riley's only visiting right now. He's in START, and he's just been promoted to the rank of Captain and given his own platoon, based in upstate New York. He reports for the change of command next Saturday. Kelly still goes into the field now and again, and never mind that she's almost sixty. She's still fit, still dangerous… and still cool as all get out.

Uncle Ballard and his wives, my many aunts, are still awesome, still active in the fight. And their kids are all involved in some way… even Michael Killian II, who plays assistant Watcher for his dad a lot. After all, he can't be a fireman— which he still wants to do very much— until he's twenty-one, and he has a couple of years, yet.

Mary Russell-Holmes— just Mary, to me and my lovers, these days— is a Watcher, and ye gods and little fishes, she just plain _owns_ the job. Even Buffy sometimes calls her "Giles, Mark Two," and Mary understand that it's an honor, treats it as such.

Buffy still trains girls, like I said… but she passed me the Leader Hat the day I turned twenty-one. I'm the Prime Slayer, the lady in charge, now, and I… don't hate it. I used the years between the Second Battle of Bloomington and that day well— I learned everything I could, and I turned an eye specifically to "big picture" stuff, strategy as well as tactics. Buffy guided my curriculum, taught a good part of it, and the Watchers and Graham— all of START, really, but under Graham's direction— helped, too. I even did a six-month stint of working directly with a START platoon, and that helped a TON.

In February of 2025, I got put on the spot for the first time. Some freaking genius swiped an idea from a novel (that had been based on a little-known tabletop role-playing game), and he managed to deliberately get himself bitten by a werewolf… and then steal a real-live moon rock from a display at a national science fair. Actually _touching_ a piece of the moon made him a Super-Werewolf, and he spread the joy around, made himself a pack and gave each of them a piece of the moon rock. They tried to take over New Orleans, and they got a scary level of close, and killed a lot of people. Team Slayer stopped them, but it was a long, hard fight, and we lost good people. Not many… but I remember every single one of them every single day, you know?

If not for the love and support of my family, I couldn't do this job. As it is… they make it possible, they keep me sane.

My family is… uh, a little larger than it was back then. Joyce and Ian broke up around the time she was fifteen, when he decided he needed to spend some time wandering the world, and a year or so later, she ended up kissing the hell out of me at a picnic. Which led to there being five of us in the relationship, now, and you know, Buffy and Xander have never once given so much as the tiniest hint that they object in any way. Which is good, because Joyce is pregnant, due in April.

Piper doesn't want kids of her own, but she's helpful with mine, and plans to be the same way with Joyce's baby, when he or she arrives. But Piper's terrified that Otto Octavius might have left some sort of genetic trap in her makeup that could result in a defective child, and frankly… well, the family comic fans say she's probably right. So, she's "Piper-mom" to my little girl, will be the same to Joyce's baby.

Judith says she'll have a child someday, but not before she turns thirty. That's fine with all of us. In the meantime, she splits her time between slaying and making music, which no one minds at all.

My little girl… she came along about nine months after the Second Battle of Bloomington, in late June of the next year. Something— very possibly the loss and recovery of Slayer power and the weirdness of the time I spent inside the scythe— caused my birth control to fail, and I came up pregnant in October. I wanted the baby, though, and Colin was okay with that, so that next summer, Avalon Chantelle Riley was born, and my world got made pretty much perfect.

Someday, she'll be old enough to be Chosen, and if that happens, great… but if not? I'm not worried about her feeling inadequate in any way (let alone having a meltdown over it, like I did), because I know she'll be able to help in the fight that her father and I have made a part of our lives. Because she takes after her father in a lot of ways. You see….

My little girl can_ fly!_

_**The End**_


End file.
